Christmas in Moscow
by ThePryn
Summary: AU. Mihael Keehl holds no warm feelings toward Christmas, even less so as he finds himself forced to spend Christmas-eve on the streets of a freezing cold Moscow. Seeking shelter for the night in the metro he runs into a redheaded boy, reluctantly following him around. Heads up for subway-shenanigans possible OOC-behavior. I'm working on keeping to the great Mello-ness as it is.
1. Chapter 1

A/N:

Okay, here goes. I should finish writing the next chapter of "The things that define me"-story, I just felt like writing something else. I blame my habit of procrastination.

I felt like writing something Christmas-themed, because you know, it's that time of the year again and a girl's got to vent somehow. It was supposed to be an one-shot, but when I reached over 5000 in word count and hadn't even come half way... Well, it's not gonna be a one-shot, 'kay?

Just read it and I'll see you on the other side.

* * *

**Rated M** _because I've been told that if it were possible people would censor ME as a whole._  
In other words; just to be safe and for future chapters.

**I own nothing,** all creds goes to Death Note's creators. _Honestly, this is just a refined form of plagiarism._

* * *

I hate Christmas.

Go ahead, call me the Grinch or whatever; it won't change how I feel. That sickening cheer that people like to flaunt in your face, starting prematurely already in October, as if the actual month of December wasn't enough. Even the religious aspect of it is since long dead and gone. Sometimes I wonder how many fakes it, if there is indeed anything real, genuinely heartfelt, about it. If so I would feel no shame in admitting that I'd feel the same hatred, though out of pure jealousy.

Don't take me wrong, I still believe it's all fake, though I like to speculate, and this I do as I stare at the ceiling of my small darkened bedroom. It's more like a drafty closet, at least it has a door, allowing me to shut myself in and the voices, growing louder by the minute, out.

Guessing this year won't be an exception, my father should soon start his banging on the door, demanding me to attend the Christmas-eve dinner, where I'll last about fifteen minutes before being sent back to my room. With a cold chuckle I remember last year's catastrophic dinner; I'd entered the kitchen where my cousin, uncle and father sat waiting for me, told them that I was homosexual and turned around the same second as my father started demanding me out of his sight. Though in retrospect it actually was quite funny.

I hear the steps, weighing heavy with vodka, drawing nearer and finally coming to a stop outside my door, just as I feared that another boot-clad stomp would make the floor collapse. The frail door bucks in under the hard fist of my father.

"Mihael, get yourself out here right this instant!", he yells between the banging, "show your relatives some respect!"

Yes indeed, respect. In real life respect was given to those who deserved it, hard-working, honest people, this was not the case in the warped mind of my father. Asking him respect should be given to anyone who carried the name Keehl, even more if they happened to be your senior in any way, shape or form. I was at a constant loss, being the youngest heir of the name, desperately trying to keep my mind on the right side of the rabbit hole.

I sigh, knowing that if I'd make him break down the door – and mind you, he would – I would be far worse off than if I simply complied. As I get up from my bed and make my short way to the door I grab a black button up shirt, pull it over my shoulders and lazily start to button it up.

I cast a sideway-glance in the mirror and brush my fingers through my blonde hair to straighten out a few tangles. It has grown out quite nicely since last year, now it is shoulder length and perfectly glossy. After my outing last Christmas my father had taken the dull kitchen scissors to it, I guess that's what you get for being honest. He said it was both punishment and remedy for my foolishness.

Apparently it didn't work, I note to myself as I hide a couple of, to say the least, daring pictures of male models lying on my desk under my history book.

Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath I unlock and open the door, revealing my father's flustered figure. His hair had once been golden blonde like my own, now it has taken on a shade of gray, the kind that came with the ruthlessness of life and not necessarily with time passing.

"Why is your room so dark?", my father asks in a huff, the alcohol clouding his mind stinging my nose as his breath hits my face.

In response I just shrug, any answer would've passed him unnoticed anyway. I slide past him and make my way to the small kitchen, just wanting to get it all over and done with so I could return to my room to study, jerk off or simply sleep the night away.

The room has grown quiet as I enter before my father. It's way too small to be used as a dining area, but seeing it is the only room that isn't a bedroom it had to do. None the less it's small, not more than four square meters, and that's without the table and chairs that now occupied most of the space. I'm forced to climb over my cousin's lap to reach the vacant stool, squeezed into a corner. Blatantly I ignore the taunting pat my cousin plants on my right butt-cheek, wondering if he knows that it turns me on more than it annoys me, even if the thought of cousin-lovin' made me nauseous.

I've hardly taken my seat before it all starts.

"So you've decided to honor us with your company at last, now have you Mihael?", my Uncle Victor asks in a snide tone while examining the table-cloth, not looking too impressed.

He's the older brother of my father, the one who turned out "right". Right there you can see the distinct difference between them as they sit beside each other. Uncle Victor is dressed in a suit, well ironed and pressed, and sits straight in the chair, as if he doesn't want to touch anything unless necessary, a look of disgust hiding behind his stern face. My father, on the other hand, sits crouched beside him, humbled, dressed in an old sweater that has started to stray from its earlier pattern to make way for a new one made up by different stains, his face bitterly lined from constantly scowling. In the cold grey eyes of my uncle you'll find pride, in my father's you'll just drown in a fog of intoxication.

"I see your eyesight is as good as ever, uncle", I answer with an overly polite tone and bring a knee up against my chest.

"Mihael, behave!", my father yells at me and slams his fist on the table, his attempt of intimidation failing me as I cast a bored glare at him. My uncle chuckles lightly and waves a dismissive hand at my father.

"Oh, come now, Yuri", he says, "let the boy be."

My father mutters something, drowned by another sip of his drink. The table before me is set with everything my father could've mustered up for a feast; pickles, bread, a pitifully small stump of salami, butter and – of course – vodka. The only thing that strikes me as a rarity is a bowl in the middle of the table filled with small chocolate bars. My mouth starts to water as I keep my eyes on the bowl, thinking about the sweet taste of chocolate melting on my tongue. Just as I'm about to reach out for one of the treats my uncle speaks up again, and deep down I know I would end up missing out on the coco-goodness.

"Your father tells me you're going through a hard time in school, Mihael", Uncle Victor says pitifully and turns his face into a worried frown, "how come?"

The mocking wakes the familiar anger, coiling up inside my stomach, knotting and churning, wanting to break out. I look up at my uncle from under my bangs, our eyes clash for a moment. The air grows heavy.

"What are you talking about?", I ask, trying desperately not to growl, to sound polite, "I'm ranked second best in my school."

Beside me I can hear my cousin stifle a snicker, Uncle Victor gives him a disapproving stare and quickly he mutters;

"I'm sorry father."

My own father has retired from the conversation, deeply leaned back in his chair, watching me with a warning look on his face. He knows that if we shared anything, other than the name of Keehl, it would be the relentless pride. Even if he was unable to agree with my views or choices, he knew it was dangerous to taunt me for them.

Deep down he too hates having Uncle Victor and his brat over for dinner, getting his nose rubbed into his own failure, being pitied. But for my father pride, tradition and family are equally as important, and thus he carries on this charade each and every year. I suppose that if his drunken state hadn't been an everyday display, this would be part of the reason for it tonight.

"That is what I'm talking about!", Uncle Victor continues cheerily, as if he find the situation comical, "I hear that there's a Japanese boy that's ranking higher than you, what was his name now again?"

"Near", I grit through my teeth, feeling the lump expanding ominously from the inside, I feel like I could snap at any moment now, and that wasn't part of the plan.

"Ah, yes", he nods in recognition, "it's a pity that you don't seem to have any patriotic pride to even keep up with the foreigner."

"I did come first place in that writing contest", I try to reason.

"Yeah, because Near didn't enter", my cousin sneers from beside me.

I turn, wishing him to die for shooting me and my accomplishment down, his deep blue eyes bore into mine. His is like the ocean on a sunny summer's day, mine are like ice, or so I've been told. We didn't always hate each other, me and my cousin, as we grew up I loved him like an older brother. Him being my senior by two years he started to grow cold towards me as soon as he started school, not having time to play with me anymore. It was the pressure from Uncle Victor, and when I two years later started my academic career as well, the gap between us grew wider as we became rivals of greater success.

He graduated last spring, at the top of his class of course, but in a school wide perspective he was the runner-up after me. I suppose that contributed to his sour feelings towards me, after all I'm in the same situation regarding Near, and I am able to say I hate the white-haired brat.

"When are you going to stop throwing your life away with that nonsense, Mihael?" my father mutters disappointedly from his seat across the table and rubs a hand over his flushed face.

"I wouldn't be worried, Yuri", Uncle Victor says while leisurely reaching out for a pickled gherkin, "it's just a passing phase, all young boys need to rebel at some point. Surely Mihael will realize the futility of pursuing a career in literature soon enough, when the hormones in him even out."

With a sharp snap he bites into the salty vegetable.

"Just as he's bound to overcome his other perversities", he adds with his eyes locked with mine.

My father sighs and nods in agreement. Even though I know about him not accepting my sexuality can't help but feel a pang of hurt at the sight, betrayed by my own father that I like to think loves me, beneath it all. I feel as if I'm made of glass and that the anger and bitterness finally formed a fist, thrusting through me, shattering my perfect façade that wasn't good enough to begin with.

Enough with these pretences.

I stand up straight and raise my boot clad foot towards the table top, I'm not about to scurry away like an ashamed dog, having to awkwardly jump over my cousins lap. The table sways lightly under my weight as I step up, my father falls to the floor in shock as I walk right over the fine porcelain and scraps of food. Uncle Victor and my cousin get on their feet, though too shocked to go after me as I jump down from the table and make my way towards the front door, only stopping to grab my coat from my room.

The heavy door makes no loud clatter as I slam it behind me, I deem it slightly anticlimactic, but waste no time in recovering lost drama and make my swift way down the staircases, taking two steps at a time. I don't know why I'm rushing; no one would leave the warm apartment even to chase me down the stairs, if so they'd be fools. Just as they thought me a fool, for exposing myself to spend the night before Christmas out in the cold, in which less fortunate died in.

If I have to choose between death and turning back, I think, I rather die.

I hate Christmas.

* * *

A/N:

I see you made it to the end, or did you just scroll right through without reading it?

I've always liked the thought of Mello being Russian, though Keehl sound more German. More so I like him being an author on the side of being a bad-ass mafia boss, I think I'm not alone in feeling a kind of connection with him because of it. I mean we're all writers, right?

I have set a **deadline at the 24:th**, Christmas-eve, and will try to update regularly until then, just to keep the procrastination at a minimum. In any case it'll be finished by Christmas-eve, **_if not you have the full right to burn me hard and mercilessly in the reviews._**

_**Reviews are greatly appreciated to prevent bad fanfic's, we all hate those**_.

ThePryn, over and out.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N:

Okay, so here's the deal; I work. I work waaay too much, and that's my premature excuse if I won't make it to the final deadline. Keep your pants on though, right now it seems like I'm gonna make it. But just in case, you know?

This chapter was supposed to be uploaded on Monday the 17:th, now it's Sunday night, but you guys have been so sweet that I decided to throw you a bone. Really, all the follow's and reviews, you're making me blush! THANK YOU! :D

Hope you like it, I'll see you at the bottom.

* * *

**Rated M** _because I've been told that if it were possible people would censor ME as a whole._  
In other words; just to be safe and for future chapters.

**I own nothing,** all creds goes to Death Note's creators. _Honestly, this is just a refined form of plagiarism._

* * *

Making my way down the main road, all sounds muffled by the thick layer of snow, except the crunching of my boots, I curse myself for not bringing my scarf. I don't like the cold; it always come as a surprise, waking up one morning in late November to see the world covered in snow, the cold air embodied. I'd marveled over how the frost on the inside of my window had rather looked like a hand print with long sharp nails, as if the rime had tried to claw its way in to kill me in my sleep. The thought strikes me as likely as my exposed, slender neck feels like it's locked in a choke-hold by the freezing air itself.

Noting the fine white dust of my frozen breath across the fur lining of my hood, I realize that I have to find shelter, and as any other reject of God's good will the answer can only be to inch closer to hell. The metro.

I am lucky to live in a country where metro entrances are scattered in the middle of nowhere like mushrooms, popping up after a rich shower of rain, it doesn't take me long to spot the illuminated M in the distance. At least it would've been illuminated if not some enraged individual had seen it fit as a mark for a beer bottle.

The sound of my boots changes as I clomp down the steps. The dirty passage leads me to an abandoned foyer, a low howling of the wind, from both beneath and above, resonating off of the high vaulted ceilings. Closing in on the ticket barrier I reach down into my pocket only to find my subway pass absent. Of course, if I'd been in too much of a hurry to not grab my scarf, what were the chances that I'd taken the time to grab anything else of importance, like my pass or money?

I sigh heavily and hang my head low, this is such a hassle. Looking up I set my eyes at the guard, situated in his box to the left. I watch him for a minute, waiting for him to notice my hooded figure on the surveillance screen and look up as it's the only way he can get a good look of my face, curious of what I was about to do. It is necessary to get his attention, lock him in my stare, as I move forward to the old and rusty line of turning wheels. The trick is simply to seem confident, unwavering, as you hop up on the metal box and slowly swing your legs over to the other side.

I land with a small splash in a puddle of snow, turned to slush, and walk away with my head high and a cocky sway to my steps. As expected I'm not called back as I descend on the escalators, moving closer to the underground-howl. With a tired huff I push my hood down to drag my fingers through my hair, not caring about surveillance cameras, most of them weren't even functioning.

The walls are covered in those gleeful Christmas posters, making me nauseous as I can't manage to ignore them. The smiles, the warm homey scenery of a family seated around the fireplace, completely unaware and uncaring about the harsh reality watching them with envy from the other side. It seems ironic to place such pretty illusions in this filthy and cold place that frequently had to pose as home for some unfortunate souls.

With a whining sound, followed by a cracking noise and a jerk, the escalator abruptly halts and leaves me in the middle, clinging to the railing as the sudden stop had made me lose my balance.

Yes, definitely irony, I think while composing myself. Sighing at the steep climb ahead of me I plant a hard kick at the side of the now plain motionless stair, getting an annoyed whirr as a response.

The empty platform is chilly, but not cold, a relief as I expect my coat to suffice if I were to stay the night in one of the many that were now at my disposal. Perhaps the stations in Moscow were more crowded, despite the late hour, and because of it warmer. I nod to myself as I decide it's worth a shot, you know, nothing ventured nothing gained and all that, but seeing I had jumped the barrier I hadn't ventured anything. Win-win, right?

Leaning against one of the luxuriously chiseled pillars, covered with several layers of graffiti, I wait for the train to arrive, and soon enough a cryptic crackling sound though out the platform's speakers. Closer to Moscow the stations are maintained like the national treasures they are, but here, in the outskirts of nowhere, they are simply forgotten pieces of our history.

The train brings with it a chill waft of air that whips my hair around before it comes to a screeching halt and opens its doors with an obsolete clutching noise. I enter and find myself smiling at the heat inside and even more so for the near vacancy of the cart. Just one boy, looking to be about my age, sits to my right, playing with his expensive looking mobile phone. I would've scoffed, but choose to savor the pleasant feeling spreading throughout my body as it melts in the warmth instead.

The voice inside trails its monotonous chant about paying attention to the doors closing as I take my seat in the middle of the cart, across from the boy. I lean back in my seat and fold my hood back up, wishing the heat would make faster work on defrosting me. The train shuffles into motion and I know it'll be a long ride before I reach the city. Leisurely it makes its way though never-ending tunnels and soon the pressing darkness and rhythmic vibrations, summed up with the satisfying temperature, have me in a trance, rocking from side to side with the train's motions. It's relaxing, I've always thought so, even as a small child.

I suppose it's because my mother used to ride the subway with me in her arms when I wouldn't go to sleep as a baby, before she was brutally killed that is. Somehow, even though I know it's impossible, I think I can remember being an infant, looking up at my mother's face, surrounded in pale blonde locks, her blue eyes sending all her love with a single glance, and soundly falling asleep. The smell reminds me of her, it's a little bit murky, like old clothes that's been locked away in the attic. I was only three years old when she died, I can't remember much, just her collapsed body in the hallway, the open door, the sound of someone running down the stairs and the blood. There had been so much blood…

* * *

With a jerk I wake up when the speakers come to life once again, it's not my stop yet. I straighten in my seat to help me stay awake, and as I straighten the hood of my coat that had slipped slightly I notice the boy staring at me. At least it would seem as he's staring with those black sunglasses covering his eyes. I don't acknowledge him with meeting his gaze, but can't keep myself from casting a side-way glance through the fur surrounding my head. He sure looks strange, dressed in boots, jeans, a striped shirt, some kind of vest and a black beanie covering what looks like crimson colored hair. And those stupid looking sunglasses, why would one wear sunglasses in the middle of the night?

I can't escape the odd feeling he gives me. It isn't necessarily a bad feeling, neither is it a good one, it's just odd. Like having your skin crawl, and liking it.

I remain in my seat after the announcement of the next station; the one where I'm supposed to change lines, there's no need to rush as the cart is far from crowded. The train slows down and comes to its halt, I stand up and exit though the doors onto another empty platform, feeling the boy's stare heavy on my back. The feeling never leaves me as I easily find my way through the maze of staircases, tunnels and overpasses to the next platform, the one which carries the train bound for central Moscow.

Waiting for less than a minute I board the train, the cart is now completely empty, but the hollowing feeling still lingers on my back as I stand in the middle of the train, holding onto an overhead metal bar. Peeking discreetly over my shoulder I state the fact; I'm being followed. The boy stands merely meters behind me, apparently he'd gained on me while I waited for the train.

Unable to make out anything of his face, be it friendly or malicious, half of it buried in the collar of his vest, the other covered by the sunglasses, I decide that it would be in my best interest to shake the boy off. My certainty remains even as I realize it means I might have to abandon the safety of the metro, risking having less luck with the next guard if I'd need to return. I sigh and get off at the next stop, hurry my steps toward the exit, and as I start to jog up the stone stairs I notice the sound of two feet mirroring mine. I had to say, the boy was persistent.

Pushing open the heavy door the cold air hits my face like daggers, I cursed the idiot following me for making me give up my cover for the night. Burrowing deeper into my hood I continue to walk away, hoping to round a corner before he catches up to me. The street is empty, one of those bureaucratic, high-end, quarters that's only populated during mornings and late afternoons. I mutter a curse, wishing for a crowd to disappear in, though knowing my chances were slim, at least in this area.

"Oy!", I hear the boy bark behind me, obviously out of breath from the chase.

"Отвяжись", I snarl back without turning around or slowing down.

The boy gives out a displeased growl and seems to stop following me, though I don't detect any anger in his voice, it was more distraught than anything. Like if he's trying to figure something out, like he's misplaced something – perhaps his sanity? – and was in dire need of it right this moment.

"Why doesn't anyone of you speak English?!", he shouts frustrated.

I know that I shouldn't answer, I shouldn't encourage him, my goal is to lose him and I would accomplish this with just keeping quiet and moving, even if that would mean I'd leave him thinking I wasn't able to speak English. And that's okay, really, what does it matter if a random stranger, and not only that, a tourist, misjudges my abilities without being corrected?

I mentally slap myself in the face.

"Fuck off!", I repeat over my shoulder.

What can I say? I like to brag.

Behind me I hear the boy jog the small distance I've put between us, his boots clapping over the snow, tightly packed down by rushing commuters. I keep my head down and my feet walking.

"So you do speak English?", he asks excitedly, all but jumping up and down like a puppy.

"Obviously", I answer curtly.

"Oh, thank god, your voice is like sweet angels singing to my ears!", he yells out, in the corner of my eye I see him throwing his arms out to the sides in joy, still making good work of keeping up with my swift pace, "Please talk to me!"

"I'm not very talkative", I say, hoping that I'm getting my point across with the short answers.

"Me neither", he chirps, not in the least discouraged.

"So what's your problem then?", I start getting irritated, though in the back of my mind I can hear that little voice of reasoning telling me that I only have myself to blame for not ignoring him in the first place.

"You see, there's a difference between choosing to not converse and not being able to", he explains all the while ducking his head, trying to get a peek inside my deep hood. His persistence was aggravating.

"And why the fuck should I care?", I grumble, letting my slight irritation shine through, keeping my eyes set on the ground.

"Because it's Christmas!", he chirps back and I see his feet shift to the front of me.

I stop dead in my tracks as I feel the anger build up within me for the second time that night, like a thunder inside of me. The pain from trying to hold it in starts swelling in my very core, making me nauseous. Overwhelmed I feel how my resistance breaks down and the fury seeps through the seams.

"Christmas…" I hiss poisonously before whipping my head up to glare at the boy. "'The season of love and compassion', right? Because somehow love and compassion is synonymous with mass-consumption, like it comes in a maxi-box conveniently on sale as you've got to hurry and make good of all your wrong doings before the year ends, despite how shallow and pretentious it might turn out in the end. It's forced, but no one cares because, hey, it's Christmas. As if it made any difference, as if Christmas could make a change. But you know what?", I grit out through my teeth, inching closer to the unfazed boy, his face blanked out by the sunglasses,  
"My mother is dead and my father a useless drunkard. My cousin hates me because the pressure provided by his father, my uncle, made me surpass him in the academic race we've been forced into participating in, but that doesn't matter, my uncle hates me too, simply because I'm gay. The only thing Christmas managed to change about this is that I have to tolerate it getting rubbed in my face, because anything other than that would be ungrateful. And perhaps I am, but that's nothing compared to you, who think I should indulge you because it's Christmas, even though you're to blame for me having to spend the night out in the freezing cold as you made me give up the, probably, only shelter I had for the night!"

Panting, my disclosure leaving me out of breath, I hear my own words bounce between the aristocratic buildings surrounding us and die out into silence. The boy's mouth falls open, our faces only inches apart, frostbitten breaths mingling together, but no words comes out. For a minute he just stands there, his face still unreadable, thanks to those cursed sunglasses. If only for good measures I stare into them, demanding to get my point across.

"Oh my… That's some killer stargazers you've got there!", he gasps and tilts his sunglasses halfway down, looking at me over the edge.

For an instant I'm taken aback, his eyes are the deepest, most intense green I've ever seen. They are like a bottomless lake, be it because of algae or mystery, which you'd wish to drown in. I imagine how it would be to be lulled to sleep by the soft waves. It would be warm, not at all like the oceans rough, blue, biting cold, waves. I'd feel safe, until I fell asleep to not wake up again.

Collecting my senses I snarl, push him out of the way and start to stomp away, not really knowing how to take that last bit he'd said; stargazers, what are those?

Suddenly I feel a strong hand grasp my left arm and turn me right around to face the boy again.

"Hey, man, I'm not gonna throw you a pity party over here", he says sternly, all the chirpiness gone in his voice, his eyes now completely revealed as the sunglasses now rested on top of his beanie, "that's just life for you, but guess what?"

I glare at him in response.

"Life is just what you make it."

Dumbstruck I glower at him, steadily he meets my gaze. I decide that it's pointless to try to reason with the boy, and why did I feel the need to anyway? Besides, I still have to find somewhere to escape the cold; my limbs had already starting to grow worryingly numb. Jerking my arm back to leave, I'm only able to take two steps before the boy speaks up again.

"Let me make it up for you", he says, making me turn around to see his troubled face as he rubs his temples and sigh.

"Excuse me?", I ask.

"Yes, of course honey, you're excused", he answers and waves a dismissive hand, chuckling at himself for the witty response, "but let me at least repay you for the subway ticket."

"I don't need your money", I bite back sourly and start over, walking away again.

Silence falls heavy upon my turning to leave, searing in my ears. In the tangled mess of feelings I can easily sort out one of them; sadness. Why am I feeling sad?  
Of course because of the obvious circumstances, but compared to just a couple of minutes ago it seems to have amplified. Obviously it had something to do with the boy, and why was that?

He's a sore, I try to convince myself, I don't want anything to do with him.

I come to a stop at a street crossing, telling myself that it's only to familiarize myself with this new part of Moscow that I've never seen before, it was not because of the strange pull I felt in the opposite direction. I sigh.

"Where to now?", I muse out loud, feeling hopelessness weighing on my shoulders, pushing me towards the ground.

"Leeeeroooy Jenk-hmpf!"

All of a sudden I feel a solid force hit my back, throwing me off my feet, heading face-first towards the snow-covered street at an alarming speed. Clenching my eyes together I hit the ground, the cold feels mind numbing, I fear I've passed out, but I distinctly feel my body being shifted and the harsh air clawing at my now damp face. I open my eyes to meet the boy's, his sunglasses set askew, his left eye completely uncovered. The boy has me pinned down, his hands set in a firm grip around my wrists above my head and his knees on either side of my lower body.

A slight tingling runs through me as I try to push him off, just to have him press down harder and smirk at me.

"What did you wish for Christmas?", he demands and punctuates with pushing my wrists down once.

"What the fuck?!", I screech out, feeling the cold penetrate my coat from the ground.

"Tell me.", his voice calm, but his revealed eye glitter with childish excitement. Deep inside me I feel something tug on me, urging me to be honest towards him. My face contorts into a scowl, I hate to give in, to lose, and in truth; my defeat was painfully obvious.

"I wished for my mother to not be dead", grit out, trying once more to push him off. The boy's expression changes to a sad one, his grip not letting me move even an inch. He sighs heavily.

"Mind lowering your standards, love?", he asks, giving me an apologetic look, changing the grip of my wrists to lower one of his hands to get rid of the slush of snow covering my cheeks before leaning in slightly to whisper, "it's alright to be materialistic sometimes."

His hand lingers on my cheek for a second, making me stop my attempts of escape, as he leans back and winks at me before reclaiming his double-handed grip on me as well as his childlike anticipation.

Cute. The thought goes through my mind as casually as trees in a forest, but it's like seeing a palm tree in Finland. I can't deny it though, he is cute. That goofy grin, his round face sprinkled with a few freckles surrounded by red tresses of hair and, of course, those green eyes. As his form hovers above me it becomes an unavoidable fact; I want to kiss him. Imagine how his plush lips would feel, how they would taste, I bet they would taste sweet and rich almost like…

"Chocolate", I breathe out in a huff, the word just slipping out of my mouth without my intention.

The boy's grin widens and he laughs breathily, almost nervously.

"Chocolate?", he laughs in disbelief, I find myself unable to respond and end up just watching his face, "Right. Chocolate", he repeats, nods determined and sits down on my legs to straighten his sunglasses before standing up. "Stay right where you are, I'll be right back."

I snort at his commandment, but my body feels heavy from his leaving. Unexplainable melancholy overwhelms me as I'm left on the cold ground. I should worry about not feeling my arms and legs anymore but find the tingling left on the places the boy had touched me more disturbing, but most of all; the remarkable change of my heartbeats. From an unnoticeable pulse it had picked up a pounding throb.

Arching my neck I see his figure trot away, upside down, and while accepting the possibility of never seeing the stranger ever again I can only think of one last question, buzzing in the back of my mind.

"Hey, you!", I shout, hoping he's still within earshot, "What the fuck are stargazers?!"

I see the boy turn around, slowing his sprint, though not stopping.

"Your eyes!", he shouts back, that dorky grin plastered on his overturned face, "They're beautiful!"

Waving his good-bye he turns around and disappears around a corner, leaving me to desperately try to suppress the heated blush on my cheeks. Failing miserably.

* * *

A/N:

I'm actually not sure how the subway is populated in Moscow at night, I'm really skeptical to it ever being completely empty, but seeing it's an AU-story let's just say it's in an universe where no one rides the metro after ten PM.

Hardest part in this chapter: Mello's Christmas-rant.  
I can only base it on my own opinions about the holiday, in reality I think Mello actually loves Christmas, and seeing it already was a pretty long chapter I had to cut it short. I just hope you get what I'm going at, you know faking smiles and sending fake love to people that you feel nothing of the sort towards. Don't stress! It's mutual.  
It's such a fucking disgusting charade that you've got to keep up, otherwise you're a heartless freak.

Once again, **THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS AND SUPPORT!**

ThePryn, over and out.


	3. Chapter 3, part 1

A/N:

... **Ugh**, Just read it, I'll see you at the bottom, 'kay?

* * *

**Rated M** _because I've been told that if it were possible people would censor ME as a whole._

In other words; just to be safe and for future chapters.

**I own nothing,** all creds goes to Death Note's creators. _Honestly, this is just a refined form of plagiarism._

* * *

The boy would be silly to think I'd stay there, lying on the ground, about to freeze not only my balls off. Hypothermia might not be as common where he's from, wherever that might be. In a wild guess I'd say England, but his accent had an undertone of something gruffer; perhaps he's Irish?

Anyway, I shouldn't be debating over who is being silly and who is not; I myself am acting outrageously naïve for even hoping he'd return and remain in the area when I should be searching for cover. Instead I chose a doorway close by to conceal myself from the light wind that had picked up, but that was hardly the problem.

I bring my hands to my mouth and breathe into them, worrying slightly over not feeling my fingertips. Pacing back and forth for a while had brought back the general feeling of my limbs, but my smaller appendages simply refused to collaborate, needlessly pointing out the stupidity of my actions, or rather the lack of them. Inside my boots I wiggle my toes, pleased that they do, those extra pair of socks keeping my feet, at the very least, at a stabile temperature.

Glancing up at the sky I see a grey mist drift in, illuminated by the city lights, it would start snowing any moment now, and then I'd be in real trouble. I let a whine escape my throat, I hated to admit defeat, but in the case of a downcast I'd be forced to leave this place, and by doing that abandoning all slim chances of meeting that boy again. I can't deny it; I want to see him again.

He had succeeded in getting to me, and sure I have a temper to me, but no one had ever really bothered me quite like he did. It was unnerving how he managed to make my skin crawl so pleasantly, even more so how much I liked it. Above all though; how everything he said stuck in my head like aching bruises. It's like everything he had done during our short encounter suddenly calls for my attention and I can't help but give in to indulgence. His whole being irks me, but I find myself unable to ignore him, walk away and forget him. This is getting dangerous.

A creaking noise startles me from my thoughts; it comes from behind where I'm hiding in the shadowy door frame, the distinct sound of boots coming closer. I'm not attempting to hide; it just turned out that way, thanks to the direction that the midwinter winds are coming from, bringing with them the ominous clouds of impending snow above me. I glance over my shoulder and see a familiar lean figure stand beside the print my body had left in the snow. The boy actually returned.

He stands there, just looking at my contour, his shoulders slightly hunched, to me it seemed sad. The thought makes me incredibly melancholic, irrationally and heart wrenching. I decide to go with the impulse driving me from my hideout and leisurely I walk over, not intentionally quiet, but none the less so, and end up beside him. My shadow betrays my discretion but the boy makes no motion to acknowledge my presence. Slowly he brings his right hand to his lips; a cigarette pinned between his index finger and thumb, takes a deep drag and furrows his brow, as if contemplating something grave.

"It looks like an angel landed here", he says and motion towards my outline in the snow.

Shifting his sunglasses to lay on top of his head, uncovering his striking eyes, he turns towards me, smiling. Not allowing myself to thrive in the sudden fluttering of my heart I set my eyes on the ground.

"Don't call me an angel", I mutter under my breath and prod my foot at the snow, maybe with a bit too much force, maybe a little bit angrily, "angels are dead people. I'm not dead."

Throwing nervous glances at him I see the boy take a deep drag of his cigarette and breathe out the smoke through his nose, the smile gone, replaced by a serious look of determination.

"Then tell me your name", he says plainly, letting his eyes wander to watch the smoke slowly dissolve into nothing.

Looking up his green eyes instantly shifts back and locks onto mine, both urging me to tell him and getting any word stuck in my throat. I feel like I'm suffocating. The boy's face cracks into an amused smile at my tongue stuck state, not helping me in the least.

"Oh, yeah, right!", the boy exclaims and places his cigarette between his lips to zip down and ruffle through his vest, ultimately breaking eye contact; and thank god for that, I think as I draw a deep breath, no longer feeling quite as restricted.

The boy pulls out a chocolate bar and hands it to me, I had totally forgotten about that, the chocolate. I feel a smile tugging at my lips as I look down on the bar in my hands, forcefully enough for me to let it break through. I rip off the wrapping and latch onto the bar, with glee I hear the corner snap and land on my tongue, feeling the smooth taste explode in my mouth, leaving me wanting more.

I had always had a special relationship with chocolate, I suspect my mother broke that rule about not giving babies sweets before they turn two, though I'd discard it as an old midwife's tale myself; of course babies can have chocolate, don't be silly.

Slowly the last piece melts in my mouth, with my eyes closed I savor the last lingering notes of the taste. Few of the many that had seen me eat chocolate and possessed the courage to comment on it usually said that I made love to it, or something of the likes.

To be completely honest, in this moment, with my eyes closed, I can actually imagine how it would be. The melted, smooth texture on my skin, under my exploring fingers, how it trickles down my stomach and coils up around the base of my member. A lone drip making its way down the shaft, reaching the head ever so slowly, only to be consumed by a hot tongue, retracing its path and ending up against my lips. Relishing in the rich flavor lingering on the luscious lips, tasting even sweeter for every flick of my tongue; it's not chocolate, but something even greater. Feeling soft hands glide through the substance covering my body, firmly gripping my hips to bring me down to a warm lap, down on a satisfyingly hard erection driving through me, filling me so perfectly.

A moan, sounding foreign, reaches my ears and startles me back to attention. Opening my eyes again I meet a set of deep green eyes, giving me an incredulous look. In my hand the empty chocolate wrapping is held in a cramped grip, half raised to my parted lips. Was that me moaning just now?

"Looks like someone likes chocolate", he muses out loud, a new cigarette bobbing between his lips

I struggle with not letting a heated blush reach my cheeks, though a bigger problem occupies my main attention. Bigger and lower. Thankful of the length of my coat I watch as the boy laughs giddily.

"Good thing I bought enough", the redhead holds up another four bars of chocolate with a wide grin.

My eyes going wide I reach out to grasp another one, grateful for the distraction, but grasp nothing as he holds them up in the air, out of my reach even as I stand on my toes.

"Down, pups", he laughs out as I try in vain to reach the treats, "consider it a bribe."

I stop my attempts of climbing the boy as a tree as the words sink in; a bribe? The eerie feeling returns like a knot in the pit of my stomach, sending shocks of tingles throughout my body as I watch the boy glow with anticipation.

"And who says that I'm not going to walk away?", I ask him cheekily, knowing I'd never be able to walk away from anything as long as chocolate is involved.

"Because you seem to be the kind of guy who won't stop until he's got it all", he explains and winks again.

Suddenly I'm very aware of how close our bodies are, seeing I'm practically hanging from his outstretched arm, his breath hot on my face. The boy wears a daring expression as he waits for my reaction; we both know he's right. I step down, grumbling over my defeat, glaring daggers at the boy.

"So what do you want?", I spit at him and cross my arms over my chest defiantly.

"Your name", he states simply with a shrug and takes another drag of his cigarette.

Opening my mouth I have to stop myself, this is wrong. It feels so easy to tell him my name, almost like I want to tell him. It feels right, so it has to be wrong. Right? And what of that saying about not taking candy from a stranger? Well, that train already left the station, I scoff inwardly and roll my eyes.

"Mihael", I tell him and sigh over my lost resolution, though I can't say I miss it.

The boy smile wider and holds out one of the chocolate bars, stuffing the other three back into his vest. I grab it, going easier this time, contentedly sucking on a corner. The exhilaration has gone dull, in the back of my mind I feel another indefinable craving, the dissatisfaction hollowing my chest.

"That's a good boy, Michael", the boy coo while patting my head.

Liking how his light hand felt on my head, enough to ignore his condescending tone, I couldn't ignore how he mispronounced my name; I'd sacrificed too much for that.

"You're saying it wrong", I say around the chocolate.

The boy stills and raises an eyebrow. Unlatching from my sugary bribe I lick my lips clean before continuing correcting him.

"It's Mihael, not Michael", I say, emphasizing the difference.

"Mihail?", the boy tries, nodding while awkwardly looking away, to bend the syllables.

I shake my head as the boy expectantly looks back at me.

"Mihael", I repeat.

"Mitchell?", the boy squints confused and tilts his head to the side.

"No", I grunt, "Mi-ha-e-l."

The boy flicks away the cigarette butt and lights another, taking the first drag he hums lightly.

"Mickey?", he grins at me.

Growling at him the boy puts his hands up in defense, chuckling amused.

"Hey, I'm never gonna get that pronunciation right", he confesses between giggles, "can I call you…", the boy muse, "Mello?", he finally settles, glowing with self-satisfaction as he eagerly awaits my verdict.

"Why the fuck would you call me Mello?", I snarl at him, still agitated, there was nothing wrong with my name, though I have to say I like the way the nickname rolls off the boy's tongue.

"Because you're about as mellow as a deadly viper", he explains, "it's called irony, love."

I snort to cover up a sigh in satisfaction, a warm feeling spreading inside me for every affectionate nickname the boy comes up with, looking away and sharply snap off a piece of chocolate.

"Call me Matt", the boy holds his hand out to shake mine. I look at it, his fingers were long and slender, I think they call it piano-fingers. They seem like they would feel cool.

"Call you Matt?", I ask, pointing out the boy's choice of words, cocking an eyebrow, "What's your real name then?"

"A secret", the boy, Matt, winks, breathing out another puff of smoke, and give a nod towards his outstretched hand, still hanging in mid-air, waiting to be shaken.

Timidly I start nibbling at a corner of the chocolate while reaching out and take the hand in mine and shake loosely once, proven wrong; his hand was unmistakably warm.

"Oh, shit!", Matt exclaims, eyes going wide, flicking his half smoked cigarette away he grabs my hand between his, "your hands, they're like icicles!"

Desperately he starts blowing into our joined hands, rubbing them together to make friction. Once again the tingling sensation fills me. Confounded I stand there, suckling on the corner of my newly gained chocolate bar, feeling more and more like it doesn't bother me, accepting my attraction to every feeling the boy brought me. The look of worry in the boy's face is endearing, for a moment I wonder how he'd react if he'd known that my fingers had been in that same state for hours.

There's a hint of panic in Matt's eyes as he looks up at me.

"Come on, we gotta get you inside somewhere", he says urgently and start tugging me in the direction from where we'd come from.

Being clumsily dragged by the hand towards the Metro exit, my other hand awkwardly grabbing a chocolate bar, connected by my mouth as if my life depended on it, I feel giddy. Like all my pride and stoic behavior is plain stupid, that for once I can let go and simply follow the example given by the sweet red-head in front of me. In comparison he seems so free, as to my collected, rather repressed, pretence.

Right that moment I feel lighter, the steps I take easier, every objection falling from me and the distance opening up before me. Though simple facts will never escape me.

"Matt", I call out, trying to slow the boy down with no success, "Matt!", I try again hearing a giggle rip from my throat, "MATT! You're not gonna get in that way, that's an EXIT!"

"Don't care", the red-head answer hurriedly, not turning around nor slowing down, "there's a door, I'll figure something out!"

As we draw nearer the church-like building the boy reach up and put his glasses back in place before coming to a halt outside the doors. There are no handles on them, seeing they were not supposed to be opened from the outside. Muttering a curse the red head's face turns into a scowl. Finding it sweet I smile and tug my right hand back from his grip, prodding him in the side to make him move away. Curiously he watches me as I turn to lean on the door.

Folding down the wrapping I put my half eaten chocolate bar into my pocket before jerking my hips backwards, bumping the door lightly, setting it into a small swing, enough for me to grab onto it and push it open. Winking at him I slide inside, leaving Matt on the other side, smiling appreciating. Through the glass I watch him, waiting with a raised brow and a cocky smirk, mirroring my actions. The redhead is soon situated in front of me, smiling deviously. Suddenly he drops his consenting face.

"Well, I would've never!", he starts in a shocked tone, looking bewildered, and grasps his heart in a dramatic fashion, "Mello! You're a criminal!"

Matt returns to smiling brightly, throwing his head back laughing, causing my heart to skip a beat. It's so childishly invigorating hearing him laugh that I crave more, and not only of his laugh. As I reach out for his glasses, wanting to see those emeralds glisten with joy, Matt jerks his head away and grabs my outstretched hand, falling gravely silent in an instant.

"Don't", he says sternly.

Feeling like a scolded child, not knowing what I had done wrong, I look down at the dirty floor, wishing for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. Unreasonable guilt overwhelms me, this is so embarrassing.

"Owh!", I yelp as a sharp pain yanks my attention back to my hand.

Snapping my head back up I'm faced with Matt's grinning face, my middle finger stuck between his white exposed teeth. Letting go of my finger, but not my hand he winks.

"Just checking", he grins and places a small kiss on my knuckles, setting my veins on fire.

It feels like my blood has turned into acid, making my outstretched arm border to trembling before reaching my heart and making it quiver. Dumbfounded I let my hand stay in Matt's as he runs his parted lips over my knuckles, making me painfully aware of just how soft they were. Frozen in place I let Matt's slender fingers sprawl my own appendages to his own will and amusement, getting a feeling that if he so wished to bite them off one by one I'd be completely unable to stop him.

"Don't want 'em to go blue and fall off, now do we?", he mumbles against my fingertips, teasingly nibbling at them.

Opening my mouth to reply I end up just standing there, imagining I look rather like a fish on dry land. Deep down, in the company of my former pride, I hate how he makes me act like a giggling school girl. No one had ever brought out that behavior in me; I never even considered it possible. Scoffing at the smug smirk on Matt's face I snatch my hand back and turn to walk towards the ticket barriers, stepping up on the metal box with ease, nonchalantly making my way over to the other side.

"Oстановиться!"

The booming voice comes suddenly from my right, turning around I see an enraged guard coming closer with an unimpressed expression. I suppose excuses would be pointless, considering my current location, midway over the turning wheels, my intentions speaking clearly and after all; it is the guard's job to stop young villains as myself from accomplishing the crime at hand. And seeing the fine being way too high for me to even consider being the honest one, there's only one possible way out of this.

"Fuck!", I exclaim, "Matt!"

Jumping down from the barrier Matt soon follows, sliding over the metal box, landing graciously on the floor, hurrying me further by pushing me from behind towards the stairs.

"Shit, shit, shit!", Matt stresses from behind me, probably seeing the guard closing in on us.

Close to flying down the concrete stairs, taking three steps at a time and fearing death by face-planting, we reach the empty platform, empty of people as well as trains, leaving us with only one possible route; straight forward. Our boots clatter loudly over the tile floor, speeding up as the sound of a third pair of boots joins in. Throwing a glance over my shoulder I notice the slowing of the guards pace, he didn't seem to be the cardio-exercise kind of guy, but neither was I, and Matt was a smoker for god's sake. An irrational surge of joy drives though me, this is straight out ridiculous, ripping a nervous laugh from my throat.

"Left, left, left!", a giggle lace Matt's voice as we run up a flight of stairs on the other side, grabbing hold of my hand to yank me in the right direction on the stair landing above.

Sprinting through the corridor the chasing steps echoes more and more distant, my hand still tightly gripped by Matt's. The relieving sound of a waiting train grows louder the closer we get to the next platform.

"IN!", Matt yells and tackles me sideways though the doors, sliding shut shortly after we both land hard on the floor inside.

Sitting up I see glimpses of the guard, left panting on the platform, before the train emerge with the total darkness of the underground. To my left Matt lays sprawled out on the floor, panting hard, a hand on his chest. Wincing painfully he takes a couple of deep breaths before calming down enough to manage chuckling gleefully.

In the back of my mind I almost realize what it is I've been craving more than chocolate. Almost.

* * *

A/N:

_**I AM SO SORRY!**_  
I'm not satisfied with this chapter, it's not even finished, I've got like... **two pages left behind!**

The thing is; _I'm not as sure about making the final deadline_ anymore. I'm not just saying this, I have literally been **loosing sleep** over this. **_People are starting to worry over my caffeine-intake_**. But I'm going away for a night now, and I just couldn't bring myself to leave without throwing at least something at you guys, and even if it's kinda hot of the press this is the part I've gone over the most and I hope it'll do.

I'll try my very best to make the deadline, _and do it better than this._ _**Please don't be discouraged.**_

ThePryn, over and out.


	4. Chapter 3, part 2

**Rated M** _because I've been told that if it were possible people would censor ME as a whole._  
In other words; just to be safe and for future chapters.

**I own nothing,** all creds goes to Death Note's creators. _Honestly, this is just a refined form of plagiarism._

* * *

"So I take it you make a habit of casually walking over things that are in your way?", Matt inquires, barely keeping himself from bursting out laughing where he's sitting on the floor in front of me, leaning against the seats.

Finishing the half I had stuffed away in my pocket Matt had offered another chocolate bar in exchange for the anecdote about how I had found myself in the metro so late on Christmas-eve, which eventually led to our acquaintance. I had lost any objections of sharing facts, harmless facts, with the red-head; perhaps I dropped them somewhere as we ran from the metro-guard. I actually hoped that my collaboration would be met by the same amount of harmless facts about Matt, though to me they wouldn't be harmless.

Fact about Mihael Keehl; he's intrigued by a certain stranger he met on Christmas-eve in the metro and wants to know more about him.

"Mhm", I nod casually and break off a square of chocolate from the bar with my fingers, nibbling thoughtfully at it, "it was the straight route, it only seemed logical to me", I explain and put the last piece of the square in my mouth, still having that lingering feeling of it not being completely satisfying.

"Oh, man", Matt gushes out before bursting out laughing.

It isn't that shallow fascination that you'd be caught in by how his cheeks dimples when he smiles - a great big one at that - or how you admire the ease in which he laugh, how real it sounds, or how you wish you could see his eyes, even if for just a moment. It's deeper, and somewhere inside me I know this is bad. In pure defiance I lock away that part with the one telling me I should pace myself with the chocolate; why should I pace myself? It's chocolate for crying out loud!

Gripping his stomach and bringing his knee's up tighter around his chest Matt shake uncontrollably for a moment, his laughs held back and turned into a silent sniggering. Seeing him purse his lips together to stifle another fit of laughter, I'm trapped in the moment where they are released, as they seem to swell out to their velvety pout. It's only for a second, before they're stretched out into a wide smile, but I'd be lying if I would say that I couldn't recognize that slow-motion-moment you read about in smutty romance novels.

With a twitch, hopefully discrete enough for Matt not to notice, feeling like I've just gotten my head dunked back in place, I look down and notice the square I have pinched between my index finger and thumb have started to melt.

"How about you?", I ask in return, trying to sound casual, as soon as Matt's giddy seizure calms down enough for him to at least breathe.

Putting the half melted square in my mouth I follow it with my chocolate coated fingertip, sucking on it I finally feel the fulfilling pleasure from the treat. The taste has me with my eyes closed, and seeing it wouldn't be the first time I'd done it, I let a moan escape. It's just that good.

Looking up again Matt has his sunglass-covered gaze set firmly on me, his mouth parted, as if he's about to say something. I perch an eyebrow and lick the remains of chocolate on my thumb as well.

"Yeah, about that…", Matt trails off, sounding distant, before looking down at his shoes, bringing his left hand to his forehead, massaging his temples in a bothered way, "Thing is, I'm lost.", he confesses, sounding embarrassed. "I spent like three hours on that other train, trying to get service on my phone."

"Mattie", I sigh, "you know, these things called the metro, the vehicle you're actually riding right now!", I fake exaggerated astonishment, drawing out a few cold sniggers of the hunched red-head, "are actually located underground, where there's no reception. You could've just gone up and called someone, you know."

"Yeah, well, I got distracted", he deadpan and look up at me, his sunglasses slanted half way down his nose, making me finally able to see his eyes.

A shiver runs up my back. I know what he's insinuating, but I'm not willing to believe, not willing to hope and get shot down. That had happened too many times before, and what are you supposed to expect in a country where the pride parade gets banned for a hundred years?

But Matt isn't Russian, now is he?

Keeping my eyes locked with Matt's I move the chocolate bar to my mouth, getting only the rustling of an empty wrapper as it meets my lips. Looking disappointedly down at the lack of chocolate I can hear another amused giggle coming from Matt. Oh, yeah, that's why I should've paced myself with the coco, I think and feel my lips childishly tug into a pout.

"Listen", Matt chuckles lightly bringing my attention back to him in time to see his glasses be put back in their offending place on his nose, "I'll trade you another one of those if you'll at least point me in the right direction. Sounds okay?"

"Sure", I nod and discard the empty wrapper behind me on the seat, "Where is it?"

"The Arbat-district", Matt answers with a shrug, "you know it?"

I stiffen as suddenly the speaker-voice become uncomfortably apparent. It had been there all the time, tuned out by the rare and good time I was having, but as it now points out our upcoming station it sounds more like a scream than the calm and monotone chant trailing its loop in time with the train. My heart pounds in my ears like explosions. Glancing towards the chart on the wall I have it confirmed, it's the next station.

"At least you're on the right track", I joked, but couldn't bring myself to even sound amused, my laugh coming out flat as the train slows down and the lights become brighter, streaming in from the platform, "yours is the next one."

Motionless Matt remains in his place, nothing stirring his features, giving me a clue to what he's thinking. It bothered me, not knowing what went on behind those glasses of his, and why would one hide such beautiful eyes to begin with? The train jerks into motion and moves into the darkness. Enveloped in shadows, feeling as the world just boiled down to the two of us, I know my time with this captivating stranger will soon be over.

My body moves on its own, leaning forward and cautiously crawling the short distance between myself and the red head. Our faces only inches apart, me looming over him, I reach out, hesitating for a moment, and lightly start pulling the glasses off of his face.

"Mello…", Matt sighs and moves my hands away, pushing the spectacles back, even though I hardly moved them.

My heart sinks to my stomach, aching and churning, knowing; it's too late now. The voice sounds through the speakers, Matt's mouth twitches slightly, probably recognizing the name of the station. Reaching inside his vest he takes out my payment, the chocolate I could only imagine would taste like ash. Gently he takes my hand and lays the bar in my palm.

"I rather have your real name", I murmur, letting the chocolate lay flat in my open hand.

Wrapping my fingers tenderly around it and pushing the chocolate to my chest he leans in and whisper;

"Mail."

The name slid sweetly off of his tongue, ringing in my ears like a distant bell, sending a tingling to my chest, right under our connected hands. The train slows down, lights coming back in full and Matt lays a little more push against my chest to get up from the floor. I follow him to the doors sliding open.

I try telling myself it is a happy sadness. After all, I'd been given a few hours with this person, Matt, and that's more than I ever could've wished for; but who am I trying to fool? My heart wretch in the inescapable truth; I'll probably never meet him again.

"Yeah, so…", I start, not knowing quite how to word myself, "I'm gonna stay here then."

Matt's concealed face stares straight at me, unreadable. Casting my gaze to the floor, feeling stinging tears diligently forming and pressing forward behind my eyelids. It wasn't exactly sadness, just pain, sharp and merciless, clawing at me from the inside. However unexplainable, unmotivated and foolish it might be, it didn't hurt any less.

"It was nice meeting you, Matt", I mutter trying my very best at not choking on my own words.

"Come with me!", he suddenly blurts out, though not sounding forced, just stumbling.

I feel like I'd just been punched hard in the chest, having my breath knocked out of me. Shocked, overwhelmed, I stand there, staring at him. I hear my answer clearly in my head, but the words won't come out, and even more devastating, my body refuses to move. I'm bolted to the floor, a mere step away from standing safe on the platform's unfaltering concrete with Matt instead of the trains withering wooden floor, bound to take me away from him.

"Come on Mello", he begs as the speaker voice tells me to step away from the closing doors, the voice in my head telling me to do the opposite, "the doors are closing", he urged, fidgeting on his feet.

Collecting my senses I blink, about to take my leap of faith and step towards him, as the doors closes in my face, separating us with a fatal clutching noise. My hand darts out as Matt's does the same, stopped by the glass in the door, longing to connect with his on the other side as it slides away and the train carries me into the darkness.

Staring straight ahead of me, where for only a second ago Matt had stood, looking devastated, I feel the floor fall from under my feet. My knee's give in and I sink to the floor. In my head voices clash, reason and feeling, unable to make anything out of it I feel like my heart has been thrown down into a running blender.

Lights flash and I arrive to the next platform, a surge of clarity hits me as the doors open, stumbling I get up and rush over to the other side of the platform, feeling like I'm running in waist-high snow, to the track going back. I had to get back. It was clear to me now; I had to get back to Matt, whatever that might mean. Tapping my foot impatiently I stare into the darkness of the tunnel, the fidgeting growing bigger by the second I end up jumping up and down.

"FOR GOD'S FUCKING SAKE!", I yell out.

I'm not even sure that he's going to still be there.

"Mihael!", turning towards the voice I'm met by the sight of a boy, about my age, dressed weirdly, doubled over and panting. Did he run over here?

"Mail!", the name escapes me without thinking as I start running towards the red-head.

Reaching him I'm embraced in his strong arms, holding me tightly he pants violently. As he traces his hand to the back of my neck, fingers dearly lacing through my hair, I nuzzle my face into his shoulder, feeling those damned tears pressing even harder now.

I feel the mad hammering of Matt's heart, even as his breathing evens out, making me think it must be painful, at the same time feeling safe. Secure in the notion of him feeling the same way as I am, even though it might just be bad cardio.

I hear Matt huff once before pulling me off his shoulder slightly. His sunglasses were gone, I didn't hear the crunch of my foot crushing them, and now the green eyes I had so longed for are bare, smoldering tracing the paths of tears staining my face. Embarrassed I look away, instantly having my face caught by a soft hand, a thumb softly strokes my cheek before bringing my face to his.

Chocolate would never even compare to the taste of Matt's lips.

* * *

A/N:

There you go, the last pages of chapter three.

_So I might not make the deadline_, but on the other hand, **I might**; it all depends on how much I can write tomorrow.  
**So who thinks I can pull it off?**

Come on, I'm counting on you guys rooting for me!

In any case; this wouldn't be the worst ending ever, now would it? But I have decided that there will be another chapter... _you should look forward to it_.

In this chapter I mention the** Arbat-district**, and for those who wonders why I'll tell you;

_**THE ARBAT-DISTRICT IS AWESOME!**_  
Of what I've been told it was this street where protesters against the communist rule during the Soviet Union met up and sang songs promoting freedom and all that jazz. I was there once, and it's just so... There's still street-musicians there, pretty many actually, and the music is really good.

If you ever find yourself there, have your pennies at hand, **support the street-musicians!**

Anyways, hope you enjoyed this "chapter" and stay tuned for more.

ThePryn, over and out.

P.S. Ah, if not only for the hell of it;

**Merry Christmas, _you bugger you _****:)**


	5. Chapter 4

A/N:

**HELL YEAH!**  
**_I made the deadline!_** Who's your _ever-serving best-providing ass-kickin' author of the month_?! **IT BETTER BE ME!**

So in this chapter I skip straight to the fun part, I mean, who wants to read about the two love birds make their way home anyway? It sure would be an adventure with all the stops for _pushing one another up against random walls_ and stuff like that... _***Wink***_

I'll see you at the bottom!

* * *

**Rated M** _because I've been told that if it were possible people would censor ME as a whole._  
No, but honestly, **this chapter contains major sexual situations, and it's _homosexual_.**  
So if you can't take it, don't read it. **(Duuuh?)**

**And really, don't go searching for M-rated fanfiction with two mains that are dudes,  
_that's just self-destructive, isn't it?_ **

**I own nothing,** all creds goes to Death Note's creators. _Honestly, this is just a refined form of plagiarism._

* * *

My body hits the wall hard, the dull pain only an echo muffled by the pleasurable hands roaming over my coated body. The hall of the apartment is dark, even with my eyes open wide I can't see anything other than shadows but feel all the more how Matt moves against me, settling his hands on my lower back, pulling me closer, and on my cheek, deepening the feverish kiss. The taste of his exploring tongue leaves me unable to move, my arms hanging at my sides, my sweating palms set on the cool surface of the wall.

Prying his knee between my thighs I feel a blush heat my cheeks, I was already hard and now he knew it too. Pulling back slightly I feel his lips stretch out in a smile against mine, his hand tracing down my jaw, pulling my chin closer, kissing my lips sweetly as the hand travels farther down to unzip my coat. Retracing both of his hands up my chest he slips my coat off my shoulders, my body complying by arching from the wall for it to fall to the floor with a rustle.

Reaching down to the hem of my shirt, running his hands up my stomach, Matt moans gutturally into the kiss before he deepens it, pressing his knee higher between my legs, making me breath in sharply through my nose, barely holding back a whimper. Inside my pants I could distinctly feel my pulsating member, swelling against the pressure of its confines, the friction of the jean-clad leg pressing against it made my head spin in pleasure. Wanting more I reach my arms up to wind around Matt's neck and slide my body closer, rubbing myself against his thigh, the enhanced friction sending heat to my crotch.

Leaning my head back, panting, Matt traces his parted lips across my cheek to my jaw, splaying his breath hot on my skin as he slides his warm hands around to my back and pulls me even closer my, crotch connecting with his hip, extracting a soft cry from my lips. Hissing against my neck he suddenly grabs my butt, lifting me off the ground, my legs winds automatically around his waist, the loss of his knee instantly filled by the bulge of his own erection.

Matt's lips showers my neck in kisses as his hips makes leisure jerks, pressing his erection against my ass, sliding to rub against my own member, only to retrace and repeat the motion. Lacing my fingers through his red hair, pushing the black beanie out of the way, I'm unable to keep myself from moaning wantonly at the sensations. Jerking my hips erratically, trying to match Matt's grinding, I feel myself drawing nearer. Spots blurs my vision as I release in my pants, a whine ripping out of my throat as my body shakes uncontrollably.

Matt stiffens and looks up at me as I pant violently to catch my breath, my body shivering timidly in the aftermath of my orgasm.

"Did you just…?", he trails off, his green eyes widening, "Mello... are you a virgin?"

I bite my lip as the blush on my cheeks deepen, silently answering his question. To be honest my homosexuality is only based on back ally kissing and blow-jobs. For me it was enough to prove my preference, but the deal had never been sealed, so to speak. I'd never even had a real boyfriend, just recurrent meetings with strangers that would never have the courage to bring me home. Most of them already had a girlfriend to cover up any suspicions.

Letting go of me Matt carefully places me back on the floor before closing his arms around me in a tender embrace.

"Don't worry, love", he coos and drags his fingers through my hair reassuringly, "We don't have to do anything."

"But I want to!", I blurt out, sounding like a spoiled kid.

I hear Matt let out a sigh, I can't say if it's heavy of relief or regret. Giving me a tight hug he leans back a serious look in his eyes.

"Good", he says and nudge my nose with his own, "I don't think I could've held back after hearing you moan so sweetly just now."

My heart thump hard with embarrassment in my chest, opening my mouth to say something nothing comes out, my mouth is left hanging open until Matt leans in and kisses me deeply. I feel my knees give in under me as his tongue plunges forward, twisting and turning with my own, moving on its own accord. The kiss is cut short.

"Come on", Matt whispers, huskily with want, and takes my hand leading me through the darkness.

Our boots squeaks on the polished stone floor as his soft grasp around my hand guides me towards what I can barely make out as a door, darker than the darkness itself. There's a low click before the door swings open to reveal a big room, illuminated by the street lights shining in through the big window to the left, the snow falling serenely on the other side seems to land on the plush bed pushed against the high vaulted window.

"Wait here", Matt whispers into my ear, stroking my back reassuringly before leaving me alone in the room.

To my right is a big desk, covered in multiple computer screens, three desktop computers lined beside it, sending a pulsating buzz through the air. Taking a few steps towards them I reach out a slack hand and drag my fingertips over the luxurious wood of the table, accidentally nudging the mouse. One of the screens, the one in the middle, crackles lazily before lighting up. Unreadable numbers and letters flash across the screen, tilting my head curiously to the side I watch as they make their way up the monitor.

Suddenly I feel a pair of lips hungrily close around my exposed neck, sucking lightly before a set of teeth bites down hard, making me gasp loudly.

"Didn't you hear…", Matt murmurs against my ear, nibbling lightly at the lobe, "that curiosity killed the cat?"

Matt's arm winds around me, pushing something long and hard to my stomach, my hands grabbing it by instinct as he lets it go and leans closer to my back, reaching over to the screen, shutting it off. Looking down at, what turned out to be, a bottle in my hands my eyes scans the label;

"Olive oil, extra virgin?", I read out loud, I would've laughed if I wasn't so aware about Matt's body pressed flush against my back.

"Yeah…", Matt mutters, "I'm out of lube", he explains, punctuating with grinding his hard bulge against my butt, making my crotch stir to life again.

Biting down on my bottom lip I try to stifle a moan, stubbornly pushing through my lips as a quiet whimper.

"Don't hold back, Mello", Matt speaks huskily into my ear, a hand worming its way up under my shirt, finding a nipple to tweak, sending shivers though my body, coiling in my lower abdomen, "I want to hear it."

His words are laced with so much heat that I fear getting burned, but the warmth and the thundering of his heart as his chest press against my back is so pleasant, letting go of my lip I let my wanton pants flow free as Matt resumes to kiss and nip at my neck. Distracted from noticing his other hand making its way down to the front of my jeans before it grips tightly around my member, feeling the minute old semen slick around me I gasp sharply and bend forward, bucking my hips back, embarrassed by the blatant touch. With a growl Matt jerks his hips forward at my ass.

With firm hands Matt turns me around to face him crashing out mouths together in a hungry kiss, teeth clicking ungracefully. As tender lips close over my upper lip I give a coy nibble at Matt's bottom, getting a muffled moan as response.

I can't remember moving, suddenly finding myself pushed down onto the bed, enveloped in the soft pillows. Taking pleasure in the warmth of the bed, its crisp sheets rustling under my body, heaving with my heavy breathing, I close my eyes and let out a pleased sigh.

Feeling the bed buck under another presence crawling up on it I open my eyes, leaving them half lidded. Matt is standing his knees between my legs, looking down at me with his eyes dark with lust. One by one he lift my feet up to unlace my boots and throw them to the floor with a clunk, not once moving his fiery gaze from me.

Running his hands up my thighs, slowing down when he reaches their joints, carefully avoiding, to my great disappointment, touching my throbbing crotch to trace his hands up my stomach. Reaching my chest, he leans in slowly to capture my lips before ripping at the fabric, sending buttons to scatter the floor. Tugging the ruined shirt off my slack arms, discarding it to the floor as well, he lets go of my lips to lean back and tug his own striped shirt off, instantly returning to ravish my mouth, pressing our bodies together.

The feeling of our skins connecting is pure bliss, sending thrilling shocks through my entire body. Dragging his fingers lower to worm their way under the hem of my pants, breathing out a deep breath into our kiss, Matt starts descending over my body, scattering kisses as he goes. Panting I feel him reach my pelvis, nipping teasingly at the skin, his nimble fingers undoing my pants. With firm hands he tugs them down, freeing my member, twitching at the cool air hitting it.

Nuzzling his nose into the dip of my hip Matt smirks, lightly tracing a finger along my rock hard erection, slick with my earlier release and already leaking new precum.

"Oh my, Mello", he says tauntingly and looks up at me, making my raging blush heat up even more, "you really soiled yourself", his tongue darts out to lazily lick up my shaft as I throw my head back into the heap of pillows whimpering pathetically at the feeling. "Aaahn, but you taste so bloody sweet", Matt moans against the head.

Dipping his tongue into my leaking slit I thrash back and moan loudly, my voice resonating off the walls, filling the air completely. Matt growls hungrily and leans back, pulling my pants off my legs, gone slack by the overwhelming pleasure, with a swift motion as I lay there, hungrily swallowing gulps of air, bordering to convulsing.

As Matt reach up to my right hand I remember the bottle of oil, still tightly grasped in my hand. Before he gets the chance to take hold of it I pull it out of his reach with a whine.

"I don't want it", I say between breaths, Matt looking down on me, confusion and worry lining his face, "I just want… you…", I huff and discard the bottle to the side of the bed, reaching up to bring Matt's lips down on mine.

Licking tentatively at his lips he instantly opens them and plunges his tongue into my mouth. Sliding across my own I gently bring my lips down around Matt's slick muscle and suck at it, relishing in the constricted moan coming from him.

Pushing him off me I sit myself up across from him and latch onto his lips once more as I struggle with his belt buckle. Frustrated I bite down on Matt's bottom lip, drawing out another pleased sigh, before finally hearing a click. Tugging at the hem of his jeans Matt complies by standing up on his knees, allowing me to drag the clothing half way off him, not allowing him to move before I lean in and take his engorged member in my mouth.

Matt gives out a surprised moan, hitching in his throat, as I start to deep throat him. I don't know if I'm any good, but judging by the way Matt's hand laces through my hair, the way he bucks his hips, his deep moans and the salty precum dribbling onto my tongue, I'd guess I'm okay. Swallowing around him I try to increase my salivating, thoroughly coating Matt with my fluids.

Thrusting his hips forward just as I have him as deep as I can go, the head of his great length hitting the back of my throat too hard, I gag around Matt, jerking my head back and start coughing painfully.

"Mello!", Matt exclaims, falling to his knees leveling with me as I manage to still my coughs, making my eyes tearing up, "I'm sorry, Mello", he pants and pulls me into his lap, laying sweet kisses over my neck, "I just want you… so bad…", he murmurs between kisses against my skin.

Delighting in the raw want of his words I feel my cock twitch, bumping into Matt's and knowing the sticky feel of it is my saliva, trickling thickly down it. The thought sends shivers up my spine. Leaning back, ripping my neck from the soft lips of the red head, I look deep into his darkened eyes.

"Then take me", I rasp out, still feeling sore from the coughing fit.

Something savage enters Matt's gaze for a moment as he lays me down and looks down at me trying to collaborate with bringing my knees to my chest, a blush creeping up my cheeks at the shamelessness of displaying my naked body in such a manner. Lining the head of his member with my entrance, he captures my lips in a heated kiss as he starts to rock his hips gently. The feeling of his head, only prodding at me, is amazing. Starting to push a bit longer with every tender thrust I feel my body opening up, craving more, and with a final firm thrust the head Matt's member drives through the ring of muscle, ripping a high pitched cry of pleasure from my lips as I throw my head back into the pillows.

Matt stills, letting out a shivering breath before he picks up his soft rocking, carefully inching deeper, warily watching me as I lay wide eyed beneath him, my lips parted, breaths coming out in gasps. Giving an experimental deep thrust I hiss at the pain, feeling my insides break into sharp splinters, Matt's eyes goes wide and he starts showering my contorted face in kisses. Pulling back he gives a long searching push, dragging a whine from me, until suddenly my vision blacks out, feeling pleasurable electric shocks run through my body, pulsating from my core.

Not venturing deeper, nor pulling out Matt keeps rubbing the head of his length at the same spot, making my body quiver with the sensation.

"Is that it?", he asks breathily, "you like that spot, Mihael?"

Unable to speak, panting violently, I nod franticly, the pleasure enhanced with the sound of my name on those red, full lips.

Pulling out almost completely Matt thrusts back, hitting that god given spot inside me, hard enough to make the world flash in white, the electric feeling filling my body completely, bursting though my skin.

"Mail!", I hear myself scream, sounding distant, as if I'd left my body behind and was flying away on plush clouds, being tenderly lulled to sleep.

* * *

When I come around I'm surrounded by soft white cotton sheets, burrowed deep into the pillows and duvet. Lying on my left side I see Matt, sitting in the corner of the head board and the window, half covered with the duvet, taking leisure drags off his cigarette. His eyes set on the snowflakes falling outside he doesn't notice me as I watch him silently before reaching out under the cover, sliding my hand across his naked stomach, noting his slack penis as I graze it with the side of my hand.

"Oh, you're up?", he looks down at me and slides his right arm down to lace our fingers together under the cover, "you blacked out there for a minute, are you feeling okay, love?"

I sigh contently and move closer to lay my head in his lap, elevating my head comfortably on our connected arms.

"Yeah…", I answer without actually considering my condition, telling myself that if I felt bad right now I never want to get better.

I close my eyes as Matt retracts his hand to stroke my hair. If I was a cat, I would purr.

Throwing my eyes open as I suddenly feel a shivering around my entrance, followed by a warm trickling, the comfortable feelings replaced by sheer panic. Alarmed I lay my left hand over my stomach, searching for any ominous bubbling or grumbles but can't feel any pain, so an upset bowel can't be the reason for something currently exiting my backside. Running my hand relieved over my calm stomach I like how it slips and slides in what has to be my own semen. Then it hits me.

"Matt, did you…", I start, but find it too embarrassing to actually ask, ending up just looking at the boy.

"Hm?", Matt looks down at me as he take his final drag off the cigarette before flicking it out the window, his eyes glittering with gladly given attention.

Closing the window, only shutting the lower clasp, he shuffles lower in the bed. Shifting from his lap I end up lying on Matt's arm as he looks down at me with anticipation clear on his face.

"What?", he inquires and brings my right hand to his mouth, laying tender kisses over it, coaxing me to continue.

"My butt…", I try approaching the matter from another direction, in vain as in the end it comes down to the same question.

"Yes, I have had the great pleasure of making acquaintances with your butt", Matt jokes and smirks behind my hand, sniggering as I roll my eyes, "What's up with your butt, Mels?"

Biting my bottom lip I muster up the courage to finally say it;

"It's sticky", I wince at my blatant insinuation.

Perhaps it wasn't the deadpan question I'd aimed for, but it got the message across as Matt's eyes grow wide, a blush dusting over his cheeks.

"Yeah, sorry about that", he says and hits himself in the forehead with my knuckles, "I didn't manage to pull out, sooo sorry about that."

As Matt looks at me with expectant puppy eyes I let my eyes wander, thinking about the slow pace in which Matt's seed oozed out, how it warmly slides down my thighs.

"No", I say and set my eyes back on Matt, his eyes filling with panic at my negative answer, "I think I like it, actually."

Watching fascinated as his pupils dilate for an instant before returning to their normal size, I'm surprised as Matt lounges forward, kissing me deeply. I sigh into it and whine as it's cut far too short.

"You're too hot for your own good, you know that?", Matt murmurs as he wraps his arms around me, "if I wasn't afraid that you'd break, I wouldn't let you get any sleep tonight."

A shiver runs up my back at the statement.

"So you better go to sleep before I change my mind", he coos and nuzzles his face into my hair.

I'm about to argue back, when a big yawn presses itself from my mouth. Crawling closer to Matt's warm chest I let my eyes slide shut while listening to his steady heartbeat.

* * *

A/N:

So yeah, here is where I thought I'd end this story, but you know what?  
**I've been planning a sequel. **

And I was thinking, there is still so much more fun stuffs to write about, so I might as well just keep this story going. I'm thinking about... _Hmm_... **_Two-three chapters more_**.

**How does that sound to you?**

**Bottom line;** I made the planned deadline... _Even if it's very much hot off the press and in great need of revisiting_. Hehe ^^''

ThePryn, over and out.

P.S. _**Keep the reviews coming**__, I like them, you like them, **so why not?**_  
_And if you have any questions what so ever about the story;_ **don't even think about hesitating.**


	6. Chapter 5

A/N:

_**Heh-heh-heh...**_ Christmas is long gone now, but I felt like uploading something and have been since I ended my studies.**That was back in April**, so it's safe to say that procrastination got to me... like always. At least be assured that I'm not about to abandon my projects; I am going to do something about "The things that define me" soon enough. I'm actually thinking about rewriting it.

But until then here starts the second installment of **Christmas in Moscow**... Posted in _**July**_... **Great**, just... _great_...

See you at the bottom.

* * *

**Rated M** _because I've been told that if it were possible people would censor ME as a whole._  
In other words; Swearing, implications... sugar, spice and everything that's nice?

**I own nothing,** all creds goes to Death Note's creators. _Honestly, this is just a refined form of plagiarism._

* * *

There's a distant tapping floating through the air, clear enough to grab my attention and, to my great disappointment, drag me back to consciousness. Reluctantly I keep my eyes closed, I don't want to wake up, I'm completely satisfied with the warmth enveloping me, and to top it off; I'd had a good dream for once. Dreaming isn't something that comes naturally to me, most of the time sleeping felt like a time-leap through darkness to another day, so for once I hope to push the motion of getting out of bed before me, if only for a couple of minutes.

It's the rhythmic clicking noise, hooked to the back of my skull, which has me simply knowing that my attempts are futile, imagining that rare and sweet dream as a fluttering butterfly, fading away in the distance to a new day breaking.

With a malcontent sigh I turn to the other side, the clicks getting clearer for a second before fading away, drowned out really, as my attention is turned to the spike of pain shooting through my lower body. It feels like sharp nails, raking through my insides, feathering out into a dull throb in my lower back and the insides of my thighs. Wincing at every move I make in my feeble attempts to escape the prickling ache I'm left immobile, feeling trapped in this ironic hell made up of my soft surroundings and the ache coming from inside.

Whining pathetically I open my eyes, desperate to find a solution to save me from the pain, and find myself in awe of the room before me. Completely made of rich white marble, the room is brighter than you'd imagine heaven, the high vaulted ceilings and polished floors giving off the impression of an empty church. Letting my wide eyes wander I quietly wonder how I'd ended up there, until my eyes falls on a desk by the other side of the room.

There's a boy sitting by it, his body buried deep in oversized jeans and sweatshirt, a focused frown playing on his soft features as his fingers dances over the keyboard. Sighing heavily he stops the movements of his fingers, letting them hover just above the keys, before leaning back in the chair, dragging them through his bright red hair. Muttering something I can't quite grasp he reaches over to the side and produces a cigarette, tapping it twice on the desk before bringing it to his full lips. I find myself smiling as I watch the boy's profile as he lets out the smoke as rings, watching them fascinated as they dissipate into the air, his face lighting up in childish joy. Matt.

A sudden surge drives though me, wiping every trace of that smile off my face to twist into a pain ridden expression. As a long whine rips from my throat I press my face into the pillows, trying to will the hurt away, and as if it wasn't enough my head begins to throb in time with my lower body. I barely make out the sound of wheels moving over the floor.

"Merry Christmas", a deep voice whispers into my ear, the smell of cigarettes reaching my nose, "Mello."

"What's so merry about it?", I grunt into the pillow, burrowing my face deeper into it, hoping to find salvation at the bottom of its feathery softness.

I hear him chuckle and notice a hand making its way under the covers.

"Well", he started off as I feel his fingertips making their way casually up my hip, sending nervous tingles through my body, "for starters, I got laid last night."

Peeking up from the pillows I see Matt, that dorky grin of his plastered across his face, through strands of my hair messily strewn across my face.

"And to make it even better", he leans in closer as to reveal a secret, the chair giving out a low creak, brushing my hair behind my ear, "there's seems to be a gorgeous blonde lying in my bed."

Matt nuzzles his nose to my cheek and his hand starts to move in gentle circles on my lower back, dulling the throb considerably. Quietly watching him as he took the last drag of his cigarette, putting it out in the ashtray in his lap and then placing it on the floor, all the while keeping up with the soothing massage, I wonder if he knew what I was going through, if he too had felt like this. I suddenly it dawns on me that I actually don't know that much about Matt, really. My stomach knots sadly as I further realize that perhaps that's how he wants it. Perhaps this is supposed to be a so-called one night stand.

Matt is a nice person, no doubt about that, but what if the gentle smile and considerate actions is just part of his personality, something he'd do for anyone, and even more so if he wanted to fuck them? After all our entire acquaintance, short and irrational as it may be, has been nothing but a series of Matt's benevolence and displays of good character. What if the hand soothing me is nothing more than a helping hand out the door?

My throat feels dry.

A worried frown appears on Matt's face, in the back of my mind I couldn't help but see it as fake.

"Are you in a lot of pain, Mello?", he asks.

I sigh, closing my eyes to savor the tender touches before I make my exit out of bed, then the apartment and ultimately the red heads life.

"No, I'll manage", I lie, knowing that the second Matt breaks contact with my skin the spikes would return, "if you just… distract your parents, or something… I'll be out of here as soon as…"

"That won't be necessary, love", Matt says sternly and presses me back down as I make my attempt of leaving bed.

"Aren't they up yet?", I ask and lift a quizzical eye brow at him, "what time is it anyway?"

"I certainly hope not", he replies, somewhat appalled, letting his eyes wander to stare out the window, "unless there's an ongoing zombie apocalypse out there,", his voice changes to an airy wonder, as if there is an actual chance of it being true, "seeing they're dead and all…"

My stomach drops at the revelation and I find myself drained of any power to drive myself out of bed. As Matt's hand returns to their lazy circles he shifts his gaze back to me, a warm smile playing on his lips. I search his beautiful eyes for any ill boding twinkle, finding nothing but warmth. This only leaves me with two alternatives; either Matt is a really good liar, or he holds no hidden agenda, making the affections true and heartfelt. However, neither change the fact about him still technically being a stranger to me.

Somewhere I realize that I'm getting nowhere with trying to wrap my head around this, it just feels so good, so with letting out a contented sigh, I close my eyes. He can kill me for all I care, as long as he keeps touching me like that.

"Mmmh", I sigh into the massage, "Matt."

"That's my name", Matt breathes out in my ear, "don't wear it out."

Opening my eyes half way I lean closer to Matt, my lips ghosting over his.

"MATT!", the female voice booms from somewhere on the other side of the bedroom door, followed by a loud bang.

Matt's eyes widen dramatically at the sound of ominous squeaking boots coming closer.

"Shit!", he exclaims and stands up, knocking the chair over in the process and proceeding to stumble over it as he rush over to the door, next to diving towards the doorknob just as it's yanked open.

I decide to sit up to get a better look at the display, only flinching slightly as I straightened. The room was instantly filled with an eerie atmosphere, radiating from the girl now standing in the doorway, with her crimson eyes etched to Matt's forward bent form, frozen in the moment where he'd desperately reached for the doorknob. The girl hovers over him menacingly, her pale face framed by wild raven tresses on which a small pile of snow is slowly melting, making the pitter patter of water dripping on the floor the only sound cutting through the thick silence. It's like a scene from discovery channel, picturing a predator about to jump its prey.

"Hey, Matt?", the girl suddenly smiles sweetly, eyes glittering with deceit, "were you about to lock me out? Hm?"

Matt shakes his head frantically and straightens up to affirm his claim. The girl turned out to be considerably shorter than him, now that I could properly compare them, but something about her more than generously compensated her height in the intimidation department. She doesn't share Matt's gruff accent, it was slightly off British leaning towards American, but geographically speaking I can't pinpoint it.

"That's a good boy, Mattie", the girl coos sugary, "now, correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you supposed to just nip out to the corner store for some Jameson?" at the last half of the sentence her voice started to tremble slightly, and I can clearly make out her hands turning into fists at her sides, the trembling of her voice spreading throughout her limbs.

"Allega…", Matt weakly attempts to calm the girl down, not as tense anymore but all the more carefully collected and calm, getting adequately cut off by the girl's wide hand gestures, and splattered by the snow-slush as she shakes her head.

"No, no, no", her voice starts to rise, "I'm just wondering how it took you EIGHTEEN HOURS TO MAKE A FIVE MINUTE TRIP!", she screeches, a barely noticeable dust of pink rising across her cheeks. "YOU ABANDONED ME! ON CHRISTMAS-FUCKING-EVE!"

"Well, technically I was only out for about six hours", Matt interjects a matter of fact-ly, raising a finger in the air as to point it out, and I cringe at the statement, knowing he was all but helping his situation. At the full on death stare the girl was giving him he wisely withdrew his index, seeing she looked capable of biting it clean off. More so, she looked like she'd delight in the crunch of bones breaking by the power of her jaws.

"I was out, the WHOLE FUCKING NIGHT, looking for you when you didn't come back!", she shrieks setting off a ringing in the room, or perhaps that's just my ears, "And if you haven't noticed, THIS IS RUSSIA! IT'S FREEZING OUT THERE!"

Matt scratches the back of his head awkwardly and shrugs pathetically.

"I'm sorry…?", he tries meekly, probably knowing that whatever he might say just wouldn't be enough. With the intense stare of those ravenous eyes never leaving him he looks down abruptly, soon finding the hem of his shirt awfully interesting. In the heat of things I'd almost forgotten my wretched state of agony, reduced to a mild stinging, until a sudden surge of pain drives though me like a hot poker making me jolt in my place. In an instant the girls eyes darts to where I'm sat half-naked in the middle of the bed, only the covers keeping me from buck nudity. Even on my safe distance from her I can clearly distinguish the flare of rage awakened in her demonic eyes.

"Oh, HELL NO!", she exclaims, throwing her hands in the air before turning and leaving with a trail of profanities.

Shocked Matt looks up leaning out into the corridor anxiously before turning to me. I can see his mind piecing the puzzle together, getting the dramatic final picture and realization reaching his face as his jaw drops. For a while he just stands there, paralyzed and stuttering, the words sticking in his throat. At a loud metallic crash, sounding more like an explosion, he finally got a "oh, bloody hell" out of him as he turns around, about to take off towards the ruckus. Hesitating he turns right around and rush over to where I had been sitting all the while, wide eyes and a throat growing dryer by every passing second.

Giving me a quick peck on the lips he gives me an apologetic look laced with despair.

"How about taking a bath?", he suggests hurriedly, "to the right at the end of the hall. 'kay?"

Giving me another peck on the forehead he sprints off, taking a left, towards the crashing noise growing even louder, soon changing into the sound of shattering glass.

I can't but feel that it's a suiting soundtrack to the agony of my heart. It's safe to say that I now have something to distract me from the aftermath of my recent devirginization.

* * *

A/N:

Oh, so much drama,_ teehee_ ^^  
There'll be one more chapter in this and then I'll start on the sequel for reals-reals, but I'm not setting a deadline this time; that would actually kill me (and people are going around thinking I'm indestructible. Can't let them down, you know...)

Uh... Didn't have that much to say it would seem.

_**Don't forget to comment**__, I know you have it in you! _

**PEACE!**

ThePryn, over and out.


	7. Chapter 6

A/N:

This is a long one, you guys, so get to it and I'll see you at the bottom.

* * *

**Rated M** _because I've been told that if it were possible people would censor ME as a whole._  
In other words; Swearing, implications... sugar, spice and everything that's nice?

**I own nothing,** all creds goes to Death Note's creators. _Honestly, this is just a refined form of plagiarism._

* * *

I never believed in aromatherapy, it just seems like ditsy nonsense to me, so standing before the shelves on shelves of bath oils, bath salts, bath soaps, bath gels, bath cubes, bath-whatever's, in all the colors of the rainbow – and then some -, I am to say the least skeptical. I find it hard to believe that a smell could do anything than smell, least of all bestow me with any extraordinary sensations. In my house soap smelled like soap, tea smelled like tea and the rest smelled like depression. Though soap has the additional, more original, purpose of getting one clean, and seeing as there's no bottle or jar that simply says "for getting clean", but varies between "when missing home" to "PMS-repellant", I finally settle with a white liquid that says "killing pain" from the middle shelf. After all I don't have anything to lose anymore.

Firmly decided that the morning's ailments haven't faded to make way for the searing stings of my heart breaking, I thus pour a generous amount of the liquid into the steaming, humongous bathtub filling up in a languid pace. The room getting filled with the scent of jasmine and the bubbles arising to soft, inviting mountains makes me get in before the water can even reach above my hips. Feeling how the steam, not the flowery perfume, makes my muscles relax, I sigh as the last lingering sting from last night seems to slide right off me.

It's been ages since I had a real bath; the water in our apartment seldom runs clear, making the idea of soaking in it less appealing. I always felt like ending up dirtier after my quick showers, mesmerized by the last light brown droplets simpering down the drain, simply knowing there's no way the taint of it came from my body.

Deeming the water levels adequate I reach over and turn off the taps, reveling in the prickling feeling the small bubbles leaves on my skin as they burst with my movements, but I can't feel clean. My stomach feels like it's melting, sending nauseated shivers up my spine. Am I a home wrecker now?

What else would make the girl so infuriated? Why else would Matt be so concerned? What else would make him pick the girl before me? But of course I'm as much of a stranger to him as he is to me, and that's why I'm not feeling my heart shatter and splinters of it falling off, one by one, cutting through my chest like shards of glass. Absolutely not.

Sighing I close my eyes, giving in to the filthy feeling swelling from inside, rubbing at my face with my right hand, warm from the clear water.

A knocking on the door wakes me up from my simmering state of reflection like a bucket of ice dumped over my head.

"Y-yes?", I stutter, sinking lower in the tub to hide my body in the suds.

The door swings open, a short playback of the chaos going on outside slips into the steam filled room, before the door closes again and Matt cheerily trots towards me, carrying a stack of fluffy towels.

"Brought you these", he says and unload the stack on the chair beside the bathtub before squatting down and lazily run his fingers through the water.

I watch him warily as a small, peaceful, goofy looking smile creeps to his lips; he seems oddly calm for being in the middle of a love triangle. It's like he's not even concerned.

"What are you doing?", I inquire, making him look up curiously. "Aren't you supposed to be out there?", I motion to the door with my chin, "smoothing things over?"

Matt chuckles lightly.

"As far as Alega knows, I still am. I suppose she's still aiming at the same corner, trying to hit me with various kitchen appliances", he sticks out his tongue and winks at me in an understanding I refuse to share.

I look away with a grumble, swallowing back all and every remark I'd gladly spit in his face, leaving a bitter tasting trail along my tongue. I don't understand what in this mess he finds so amusing, regardless he certainly is the only one.

In the corner of my eye I can see Matt's face grow grave.

"Mello…", he says watching me suspiciously, "you… do you think she's my girlfriend?"

Declining to state the obvious - painfully obvious - I prefer to sink lower in the tub, covering my mouth with the waterline. Perhaps to avoid anything, except from a few bubbles, from accidentally slipping out.

Matt scoffs, laced with incredulous and bitter amusement.

"Mels… She's my roommate, that's it!", desperation slowly seeps into his voice as I don't meet his gaze, "We grew up in the same orphanage, she's like my sister! Fuck! Mello! Mihael, just… look at me, please?"

He reaches out to touch my shoulder, which I effortlessly avoid with smoothly sliding out of his reach. The room falls into silence and I spare the boy a sideway glance. His hand is still hanging in mid air, mouth agape, wearing a baffled look, like he just got slapped. For a minute he just sits there, staring at me, and I can't let my eyes off him, not knowing what'll come next, when he finally stands up. Soundlessly he turns and walks across the room, reaching the door and stops with his hand on the doorknob.

"We had a thing once", he says flatly, and another bucket of ice is dumped on my head, "and even if I am bi, she's not." Hesitating for a moment he turns his head around halfway, speaking over his shoulder, "She's just here to… repay a debt, okay?"

Turning the knob he exits, but before he closes the door he turns around, his green eyes filled with urgency, like he doesn't have much time left to tell me what it is that concerns his mind and frowns his face.

"Mello I lo…", sadness floods his features and his eyes grow dull, "… enjoy your bath…"

With that the door solemnly closes and I scramble to get my face above water, taking a deep breath. Wiping away the suds lingering on my chin I grunt loudly at the headache growing stronger inside my scull. My thoughts are a mess, but one thing is definitely clear, coming from my rationality that's been absent for a long while now. I sigh at its persistent echoing as I dip into the water completely, hoping to drown it out, but knowing none the less; I have to get out of here.

* * *

Darn buttons. I'd been set on fleeing out the door as fast as possible, but as I'd reached to button my shirt up I found it impossible with their absence. Bitterly I remembered how Matt's passion fueled hands had ripped them off the night before. And that's why I'm now lying flat on my stomach, feeling the cool marble against my cheek, searching for the last damned button.

You'd think that them simply being black would make them easy to find against white marble, but no. Of course I could've just left without them, bought new ones, if not a new shirt, but something made me think this was important. I suppose it's my subconscious not wanting to leave, but it had no say in this, seeing it was mostly that part of me that got me here to begin with. So I'm definitely leaving.

As soon as I can find that god forsaken, fucking button!

"Don't try to stop me, Matt!"

The girl's voice, together with her ever-squeaking-boots, are very obviously coming closer. In sheer panic I freeze up for a moment before rolling under the bed, only realizing the consequences of my actions just as the door is kicked open and two pair of boots enters; oh, good… Now I'm trapped.

"Where is he?!", the girl yells.

"Bloody hell, Allie!", Matt's voice hisses, "Stop yelling, he's in the bath!"

So they're talking about me, I think as I stare at the boots moving around just a couple of meters away from my face, unknowing of my presence. A part of me feels ashamed to eavesdrop, but another, the louder one, feels that since they're talking about me I have the right to know. My body, on the other hand, just shut down the same second I was out of eyesight. It probably wouldn't move even if I attempted it.

I hear them both sigh loudly as the feet stops their pacing, facing each other.

"I get a bad feeling about this, Mattie", the girl says, for once worry reaches her words, her stance relaxing slightly as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

"Stop it, Alega", Matt begs, I can imagine how he rubs his temples.

"No, I won't stop it!", Alega shrieks back and stomps her foot as punctuation, much like a child, "remember What happened last time? Remember Trent? Huh?"

Matt sighs once again.

"I do, 'cause he's the reason we're here and not in L.A.", she says somberly, almost shyly.

Her mood swings really are impressive, I think as I see Matt's boots move the few paces it takes him to get to the girl, stopping with his feet on either side of hers. It almost looks like they mold together when they stand so close together. There's a pinch in my chest as I realize that they're hugging.

I can hear a muffled murmur, probably comming from Alega, her face snuggled close to Matt's chest, only grasping half a name; Layla, Lisa, Linda?

"I know, I know", Matt coos softly.

Alega sniffs loudly and Matt takes half a step back.

"Just tell me that you didn't give him your real name", she says tiredly.

Matt stays silent and starts to shuffle around nervously.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Matt!", she exclaims and turn towards where I'm safely hidden under the furniture. For a moment I think that she's on her way to get me, that she knows I'm there and will flip the bed aside to grab me and... My heart skips a beat, but the boots stop short in front of the bedside, doing a small pirouette, and the mattress sinks down at the edge. She just sat down, I reassure myself, without any luck in stilling my racing heart.

"If the fed's get him we're screwed", Alega says gravely with a slight rasp in her voice, probably from screaming her lungs out the past hours. Matt's feet turn around and walks a couple of impatient steps, giving out a frustrated sigh. "But you know that. You just seem to forget that we're on the run, not out looking for new… hey…", she calls and I can hear the sheets rustle slightly, Matt's feet turns half way back around. "You didn't fuck him, did you?", she bites out venomously.

Matt huffs, I imagine him rolling his eyes at her, but no answer is uttered.

"I'm not sitting in your collective cum, am I?", Alega inquires through clenched teeth , "Please tell me I'm not, Matt", she pleads, "… MAIL!"

"Alright, alright! I didn't, okay?", Matt's words echoes through the room, falling silent except for the hammering in my chest. Listening intently for the conversation to continue, I dearly hope that I'm the only one able to hear my next to exploding heart. In a passing thought I entertain the possibility of my heartbeats actually being what gives me away, my sane reasoning pushing it far out of my head as I don't need my own thoughts working against me right now.

"Okay, I believe you. And you are forgiven", Alega declares, lifting one foot to drape it over the other nonchalantly.

A sudden low ticking noise comes from somewhere in the room, I manage to locate the source, watching wide eyed how my last black button bounce towards Matt, coming to a stop as it hits his right boot. Perhaps if this had happened to someone else I'd laughed at the irony of it all; that the most likely thing to give me away being none other than the same blasted button that landed me in this sticky predicament. Though in the grave reality this was no laughing matter.

To my great relief Matt doesn't give in to the urge to bend over to pick it up, leaving me undiscovered.

"Just see to it that he doesn't fuck US over", the mattress sinks down lower as Alega leans back across the bed, "because if you don't I'll gladly rip Blondie's fucking tongue out."

A shiver runs up my spine at the threat, my hand ending up over my own mouth to not whimper at the thought, noting that I'm shaking.

"His name is Mello, Alega", Matt informs the girl sternly, "don't be rude."

"Whatever…", she mutters, "And I don't want you to use my name around him. When he blabs I'm your one and only, and you know it.

"IF he blabs, Allie", Matt corrects her, getting an incredulous scoff as response.

The room falls silent, Matt scuffing his boot at the floor awkwardly while Alega start to tap hers restlessly.

"Did you at least get the Jameson?", she finally asks and sits up again, Matt not giving any audible response, "I thought as much. Good thing I did, then." As she stands up and walks towards the door I fight back a sigh of relief from escaping me as I feel the hope slowly returning to me. "Come on, we have a ritual to attend to", she says lingering around the door.

"I didn't entirely forget about you, though", Matt chirps, "I got something for you", he trots away leaving Alega behind.

Just as the girl is about to follow she stops and walks over to the middle of the room where the little piece of plastic is still lying. Standing completely still for a moment I fear that she'll feel inclined to pick it up, which would be far worse than if Matt had done it. She doesn't, but simply kicks at it, sending it skidding across the floor at me, coming to a stop right in front of my petrified face, before skipping after Matt out the door, shockingly happy.

Exhaling deeply, sending the light layer of dust swiveling through the air, I place a hand on my heart, feeling its distinct pounding in my palm. Lying unmoving my mind goes blank, except for a single fleeting thought; at least I found the damned button.

* * *

The corridor looks like it's been the stage for world war three. Walls splattered with jam, mustard, ketchup and other liquids, the floor covered in broken glass and electrical devices, a toaster looking particularly destroyed, and of all the knives scattered along the walls only a big butchers axe had managed to wedge itself into the wall. I shiver slightly at the sight of it, carefully moving down the hall. I can vaguely recall that the front door was at the end of the hallway, struggling with retracing last night's journey - though backwards - making me have to pass the joint kitchen and living room to reach my escape. I'm hoping that the inhabitants of the apartment are being held up in any other room than the open view I'm about to pass, feeling like the deer about to cross the grove, possibly riddled with hidden, bloodthirsty wolves. I really don't want to learn what kind of a ritual they'd left to attend to.

My heart sink as their voices grow louder the closer I draw to the kitchen area.

"You know, Skittles aren't the same as jelly beans", Alega points out, sending a rattling through the air, probably shaking the bag of sweets.

Deeply occupied with figuring out some sort of plan I fail to notice a large shard of glass in front of me and crush it with my boot clad foot, the crystal clear crack it exclaims surely couldn't pass the chatting pair by without notice. I'm totally doomed.

"Mello?", Matt wonders around the corner.

Taking a deep breath I step out into view, met by Matt on the farther side of the kitchen counter, dividing the living room and kitchen, and the girl graciously mounted upon it, away from the disarray on the floor.

"Hi", I greet them shyly, forcing a smile to appear on my face as I nervously scan the rooms, hopefully coming across as curiousness.

Instead of finding them completely disheveled they're rather just bare. The kitchen had of course been emptied during the earlier commotion, every cabinet door left wide open, its contents strewn across the floor and the open surfaces cleared off. The living room, on the other hand, only contained a plain black sofa, a coffee table and a widescreen TV, just a few pieces of glass had strayed in that direction.

My eyes instantly darts to the girl as she clears her throat audibly. Taking her sweet time, she unwraps her neck of the long gray and black scarf, discarding it on the countertop beside her, before easily hopping down, approaching me menacingly, not caring the slightest about the numerous shards crushed by her determined steps. She's still wearing her military styled overcoat, a black and white striped shirt underneath and red tartan pants tucked into her boots. Her big black fuzz of hair held in place by a hair band that looked like goggles with orange lenses.

If I'd seen her from a distance, in any other situation than this I'd been impressed by her style of clothing, but under her red-eyed stare I can only focus on avoiding shaking, pissing my pants or simply running away, screaming. She gives me one over as she starts circling me. Sending a worried glance Matt's way I get nothing but an amused shrug in response. Proves you never should trust strangers, especially minutes after accidentally overhearing their planning to rip your tongue out, if only as preventive measures.

Getting around on my left Alega reaches up to weave her fingers through my hair, suddenly grabbing and pulling harshly, making me lean down to avoid her ripping it straight off.

"You always did have a thing for blondes, didn't you, Mattie?", she muses aloud, making Matt bite his lip to not break out into laughter at my terrified face, his shoulders shaking with glee. Sniffing at her hand full of blond tresses, still attached to my scalp, she hums thoughtfully.

"Hmm… Jasmine… Ah!" she releases me to point to Matt dramatically, "YOU DID FUCK HIM, YOU LYING PIECE OF..."

"Hey, no take back's!", Matt exclaims and points right back at the girl who huffs and looks disgusted at herself, having a short flailing fit.

"Ugh… now I really need to change clothes", Alega mutters and walks towards the door on the other side of the living room. "I approve,", she sends over her shoulder, "get him in gear."

With a loud bang she slams the door behind her, making a pile of glass concave by the vibrations. Left in the silence I look at Matt, who smiles shyly before walking up to me and slither his hand in mine, pressing it lightly before leading me back to his room.

"Gear?", I ask worriedly but it doesn't help slowing Matt down even to smile at me reassuringly, "What gear, Matt?"

He only releases his grip of my hand as we arrive to his room once again, still without flashing me his goofy grin, which I at the moment craved desperately if only to save my own sanity, he walks over to the wardrobe. I look around for an escape route, getting shot down by myself noting that we're at least on the fourth floor, so the windows, letting in the orange light of the distant sunset, were to no help. I hadn't even noticed the late hour, what with the eventful afternoon taking up all of my attention.

"Here", Matt calls at his return, handing me a crumpled heap of fabric.

Examining the pieces I discover it's a pair of black, silk, pajama pants and a t-shirt.

"It's part of Allie's Christmas ritual to spend it in pajamas", he finally explains to me as I look up at him questioningly.

"Then what about you? Aren't you changing?", I ask, stalling, not feeling very keen towards wearing the lithe clothes, my main plan still being to escape as soon as possible. Having to do so in a thin pajama didn't seem like a smart move, lest the green house effect changed the freezing state of winter over night.

"I sleep in the nude", he says bluntly, "the pants are Allie's, she must've left them in here."

Well, there you go; another reason for me not to wear them…

"Uhm…", I look down to fiddle with the hem of the pants, "Can I not?"

"Just take the shirt", he moves close, running the fabric of my open shirt smoothly between his fingers, sending shivers up and down my spine as he drags his fingertips along my exposed stomach, "after all, you need it."

I watch his fingers creeping inside the draping, gently caressing my skin, and with taking a shivering breath I let the useless shirt fall to the floor effortlessly with a shrug of my shoulders and pull the t-shirt on. Looking up into Matt's deep pools of green they dart to my chest, a small smile tugging at his lips. Following his gaze I note the print, a simple text in a techy font, saying "kiss the geek".

Matt chuckles lightly, almost melancholic, as his fingertip traces the text. His eyes grows absent, like the shirt reminded him of long lost memories, contemplating if they were sad or happy moments. He seems to settle at sad, worrying his plump bottom lip between his teeth. I can't help but remember how its soft curve had fit so perfectly between my own lips, how the pair, pink as rose petals, had felt against my skin, the burning sensation they'd left waking to life again. Like a moth to the flame I feel it pulling me in, slowly, hesitantly, knowing that indulging in my urges would only work against me and the rationality I'd been holding onto desperately.

Just one last kiss, a small, though clear voice whispers in the back of my head, and suddenly all the doubts I'd held fall off me and I find myself inching closer, bit by bit, until I can feel the warmth of Matt's breath, his lips slightly parted.

"Don't make me come in there!", Alega yells, effectively breaking the hypnotic pull of Matt's lips.

Frowning and baring his teeth, growling under his breath, Matt takes a step back. In my mind he seems to continue backing, fading away into darkness as the last beams of setting sunlight extinguishes behind the rooftops, and his absence leaving me with a heavy sensation, like my heart turned to stone, weighing me down. My knees are close to giving in when I manage to blink and the vision disappears, Matt only standing a short pace away, the feeling persistently remaining.

Shyly looking away, breaking the smoldering eye contact, we walk back through the corridor in silence, my eyes firmly planted on the floor.

"Finally!", Alega exclaims from the right corner of the couch, craning her neck over the back and looking at us upside down.

Matt gives me a push in the direction of the couch, and I mindlessly walk over and slump down in the plush middle seat. As a ruckus is awoken in the kitchen, I can see Alega staring at me from the corner of my eye, but the intimidation feels distant, like I can't be bothered to feel anything at all. Prodding me in the side with a sharp finger I'm obliged to turn and look at her; after all, ignoring her doesn't seem like a very good idea.

She's wearing a black tank top and knee long, plaid pajama pants, showing her slender, milky white arms and calf's, her heavy booted feet flung up on the coffee table nonchalantly.

"I find your half assed effort in the ritual offensive, Blondie", she states flatly.

"Allie, behave…", Matt scolds from the kitchen, on which she rolls her eyes and sink lower in the couch, crossing her arms grumpily.

Beside myself I find their relationship cute, admiring the highly controversial family like interaction. Remembering the poster in the metro, it pales in comparison to this moment, feeling far more substantial than the perfect postcard scene.

The appearance of a steaming cup, coming from behind us, wakes me from my pondering state as my nostrils are filled by the strong scent of warm alcohol and coffee. Alega nimbly receive the cup, filled to the brim with a fluffy layer of whipped cream and a black straw bobbing over the edge. Another cup appears before me, hovering in front of my face, I hesitate before tenderly grasping it with both hands, ushering it to the coffee table.

"You do drink coffee, right?", Matt inquires and I find it interesting that he asked about the coffee but not the alcohol, before answering with a "not really".

"Wuss", Alega sneers around her cup, sipping at the whipped cream, getting reprimanded in the form of a hit upside the head by Matt, before scurrying back to the kitchen.

Frowning harshly she turns and sends a disapproving hiss over her shoulder, drawing out an amused chuckle out of me, only resulting in her turning back her intense stare at me, taking a sip from her cup every now and again. To be honest the slurping and the milky mustache left on her top lip, makes it hard not to laugh at her, but I manage to still myself, thinking about possible outcomes from such an expression of open mockery.

After five minutes of her staring, she switches her gaze to watch Matt, slumping down beside me holding another cup in his hands. Handing it to me I note that it's smelling much sweeter, though still holding a slight tinge of alcohol, than the two before it.

"What is it?", Alega wonders out loud while wiping the cream off her lip, not hesitating to lean in, grab the straw between her lips and steal a small sip, grimacing as she sits back again. "Ugh, Minttu-chocolate, too sweet", she comments before cleaning her palette with her own drink.

"Coming from the girl with a trunk full of jelly beans under her bed", Matt murmurs as he leans to the coffee table, pressing play on the remote, awaking the screen to display the colorful opening of Dr. Seuss' "How the Grinch stole Christmas".

To my high surprise Alega doesn't even bother with a snappy comeback, entirely engrossed in the movie, giving out a happy squeal before kicking off her boots and getting herself comfortable, curled up in the corner. I cast a wondering glance at Matt, a satisfied smile on his lips as he brings his own cup to them, keeping his eyes glued to the TV over the edge of his cup. Feeling an odd sensation of content I lean back in my seat, taking a tentative sip of my drink, delighting in the rich chocolate and the lingering chill of sweet peppermint, warming me to the core.

It might be the alcohol's reasoning, but as I compare my options I can't find a reason to hurry up and leave when I can simply stay and ignore the threats hanging above my head, push the worries out of my mind and enjoy this moment of blissful ignorance.

* * *

It took Alega ten minutes to fall soundly asleep, to my horrified surprise, against my shoulder. And it only took me one to find her sleeping face deceitfully peaceful and harmless. I couldn't concentrate on the movie, just staring at the flashing pictures going past my mind unobserved.

My life had been easy before last night, not the happiest of existences but easy. I had the power of rationality in a neat package, and though my feelings were accused of getting in the way every so often, they seemed to do so on a schedule. Pride in my studies and around my family, hatred towards failure, unconditional love for success and chocolate and swiftly passing melancholy for the unchangeable.

Now my head was a mess, thoughts overlapping each other, spouting from nothing, never pairing up with reason. And as my head shut down I couldn't rely on my feelings either. In less than twenty-four hours I'd gone through the whole spectra of emotions possible and impossible for my heart to bear, consistent in only self preserving fear and ruthless pain.

The pain wasn't of the reoccurring kind that my father took upon himself to remind me of when he sought it necessary in his commonly intoxicated sense. It was aching, raking, wrenching, twisting, turning, disappearing, reappearing, stabbing, throbbing, it came from the inside and filled me up completely, locking me up in my personal emotional torture chamber.

And Matt was the gate-keeper. The suspiciously sweet red-headed stranger, with the most warm green eyes able to rend you powerless, who I met in my distressed state on a freezing Christmas Eve that saved me and condemned me at the same time. He'd been sitting right beside me during the whole movie, not flitting even for a moment, only chuckling occasionally at the laughable characters.

"Hey", I whisper through the dim light as the credits roll, easily getting Matt's full attention since not a word had been uttered between us in hours. Taking a deep breath, not feeling as threatened anymore, the beast sound asleep on my shoulder, I simply whisper; "I think I have to go home."

Matt's disappointed face stirs the aching of my heart to life, but he doesn't object as he stands up and leans Alega back into her corner and at the same time freeing me from her, drawing a "Fuck you Cindy Lou Who" out of the sleeping girl. Freezing up at first, thinking he'd woke her up, he then looks at me with a wide grin on his face, and I smile timidly back at him.

I stand up and walk over to the front door, picking up my coat and noting that it hasn't moved from where I dropped it last night. Leaning on his shoulder beside the door Matt watches me as I shrug it on and start to button it up. I can feel his eyes boring into the top of my head, knowing of their capability of ridding my resolution useless, I refuse to look into them as I whisper:

"Well… thank you for... everything, I suppose", placing my hand on the doorknob.

Before I can turn it Matt's hand covers mine, firmly preventing me from leaving, even in this close distance of my final escape. But frankly the urgency about leaving hadn't returned to me in full yet. None the less I keep my eyes low to not be swept away in the darkness once more.

A low rustling sounds and as I find its source to be the last chocolate bar, that Matt had ever so efficiently snared me with less than twenty-four hours ago, held out to me, I feel a nauseated thump in my stomach, my sorely missed pride finally returning with its familiar charring heat.

"I'm not taking that as a bribe for coming with you here last night", I hiss and reattempt to turn the doorknob, feeling scorned, once again with no success.

Squeezing my hand tightly I'm inclined to look up, meeting Matt's green eyes, glittering even in the sparse light of the darkened hallway.

"Then take it was a down payment", he whispers determined and slips the bar into my coat pocket, reaching up to caress my cheek dearly, "for coming back."

It takes all the willpower of my core to not throw my arms around him, knowing it would be the end of me, but to finally turn the handle, open the door and slide out into the stairway. Closing the door silently behind me I sigh heavily, feeling my head starting to clear as my lungs are filled with the chill air, like a drop of water falling in the barren desert of my mind.

Rushing down the stairs, I feel my muddled thoughts clearing, my heartbeats growing more and more inconspicuous, the farther I get from the red-headed boy, the stranger I didn't know much about and who didn't know me at all. At last leaping out the front door, the freezing midwinter winds taking a firm hold around me I just knew. Not fully understanding why but just knowing that I wouldn't come back here, ever again. If only to spare me from all that pain, that can't possibly justify anything good, and as the distance between us grew the picture of Matt morphed from saintly angelic to deviously evil.

Squeezing my eyes shut I sprint down the street, not looking back to see if it all had been a dream, an intricate illusion, or not, I tell myself that the stinging tears pricking my eyes are simply from the force keeping them shut.

* * *

A/N:

... So that's it for this last part is very much hot-off-the-press, and there's probably a lot of other things to fix, and I will go over it eventually. The ending won't change in any case though...

_**DON'T FREAK OUT!**_ I'm gonna jump on starting to write the sequel right away, _kind of_. I just realized that **you can make daily productivity to an addiction**, and that_ just has to be good for you_, right?

No, but I'm seriously really exited to start on the sequel; _**AND SO CAN YOU!**_

Don't forget to **review**; I'd really like to know what you actually think about the story. **BE RUTHLESS ABOUT IT.**

ThePryn, over and out.


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